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diff --git a/old/44630.txt b/old/44630.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..df8c4fd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44630.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9894 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of From a Swedish Homestead, by Selma Lagerlöf + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: From a Swedish Homestead + +Author: Selma Lagerlöf + +Translator: Jessie Brochner + +Release Date: January 8, 2014 [EBook #44630] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM A SWEDISH HOMESTEAD *** + + + + +Produced by Fay Dunn, sp1nd and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + Transcriber's Note. In this ASCII text version: + + text in italics is marked with underscores, e.g. _italics_ + text in small capitals is shown in upper-case. + + [:A] represents A umlaut + [:O] represents O umlaut + [:a] represents a umlaut + [ae] represents ae ligature + ['e] represents e accute + [^e] represents e circumflex + [:o] represents o umlaut + [:u] represents u umlaut + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + + + + _From a SWEDISH_ HOMESTEAD + + _By_ + + SELMA LAGERL[:O]F + + _Translated by_ + + JESSIE BROCHNER + + [Illustration] + + GARDEN CITY NEW YORK + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + 1916 + + + + + _Copyright, 1901, by_ + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + + + + +_A_ LIST _of the_ STORIES + + + _Page_ + + _The_ STORY _of a_ COUNTRY HOUSE 1 + + _Queens at_ KUNGAH[:A]LLA 135 + + _On the_ SITE _of the Great_ KUNGAH[:A]LLA 135 + + _The Forest_ QUEEN 141 + + SIGRID STORR[:A]DE 157 + + ASTRID 172 + + _Old_ AGNETE 219 + + _The Fisherman's_ RING 231 + + _Santa_ CATERINA _of_ SIENA 257 + + _The Empress's_ MONEY-CHEST 277 + + _The_ PEACE _of_ GOD 291 + + _A_ STORY _from_ HALSTAN[:A]S 309 + + _The_ INSCRIPTION _on the_ GRAVE 323 + + _The_ BROTHERS 339 + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + I + + _The_ STORY _of a_ COUNTRY HOUSE + + + + +_The_ STORY _of a_ COUNTRY HOUSE + + +I + +It was a beautiful autumn day towards the end of the thirties. There was +in Upsala at that time a high, yellow, two-storied house, which stood +quite alone in a little meadow on the outskirts of the town. It was a +rather desolate and dismal-looking house, but was rendered less so by +the Virginia-creepers which grew there in profusion, and which had crept +so high up the yellow wall on the sunny side of the house that they +completely surrounded the three windows on the upper story. + +At one of these windows a student was sitting, drinking his morning +coffee. He was a tall, handsome fellow, of distinguished appearance. His +hair was brushed back from his forehead; it curled prettily, and a lock +was continually falling into his eyes. He wore a loose, comfortable +suit, but looked rather smart all the same. + +His room was well furnished. There was a good sofa and comfortable +chairs, a large writing-table, a capital bookcase, but hardly any books. + +Before he had finished his coffee another student entered the room. The +new-comer was a totally different-looking man. He was a short, +broad-shouldered fellow, squarely built and strong, ugly, with a large +head, thin hair, and coarse complexion. + +'Hede,' he said, 'I have come to have a serious talk with you.' + +'Has anything unpleasant happened to you?' + +'Oh no, not to me,' the other answered; 'it is really you it concerns.' +He sat silent for a while, and looked down. 'It is so awfully unpleasant +having to tell you.' + +'Leave it alone, then,' suggested Hede. + +He felt inclined to laugh at his friend's solemnity. + +'I can't leave it alone any longer,' said his visitor. 'I ought to have +spoken to you long ago, but it is hardly my place. You understand? I +can't help thinking you will say to yourself: "There's Gustaf Alin, son +of one of our cottagers, thinks himself such a great man now that he can +order me about."' + +'My dear fellow,' Hede said, 'don't imagine I think anything of the +kind. My father's father was a peasant's son.' + +'Yes, but no one thinks of that now,' Alin answered. He sat there, +looking awkward and stupid, resuming every moment more and more of his +peasant manners, as if that could help him out of his difficulty. 'When +I think of the difference there is between your family and mine, I feel +as if I ought to keep quiet; but when I remember that it was your father +who, by his help in days gone by, enabled me to study, then I feel that +I must speak.' + +Hede looked at him with a pleasant smile. + +'You had better speak out and have done with it,' he said. + +'The thing is,' Alin said, 'I have heard people say that you don't do +any work. They say you have hardly opened a book during the four terms +you have been at the University. They say you don't do anything but play +on the violin the whole day; and that I can quite believe, for you never +wanted to do anything else when you were at school in Falu, although +there you were obliged to work.' + +Hede straightened himself a little in his chair. Alin grew more and more +uncomfortable, but he continued with stubborn resolution: + +'I suppose you think that anyone owning an estate like Munkhyttan ought +to be able to do as he likes--work if he likes, or leave it alone. If he +takes his exam., good; if he does not take his exam., what does it +matter? for in any case you will never be anything but a landed +proprietor and iron-master. You will live at Munkhyttan all your life. I +understand quite well that is what you must think.' + +Hede was silent, and Alin seemed to see him surrounded by the same wall +of distinction which in Alin's eyes had always surrounded his father, +the Squire, and his mother. + +'But, you see, Munkhyttan is no longer what it used to be when there was +iron in the mine,' he continued cautiously. 'The Squire knew that very +well, and that was why it was arranged before his death that you should +study. Your poor mother knows it, too, and the whole parish knows it. +The only one who does not know anything is you, Hede.' + +'Don't you think I know,' Hede said a little irritably, 'that the +iron-mine cannot be worked any longer?' + +'Oh yes,' Alin said, 'I dare say you know that much, but you don't know +that it is all up with the property. Think the matter over, and you will +understand that one cannot live from farming alone at Vesterdalarne. I +cannot understand why your mother has kept it a secret from you. But, of +course, she has the sole control of the estate, so she need not ask your +advice about anything. Everybody at home knows that she is hard up. They +say she drives about borrowing money. I suppose she did not want to +disturb you with her troubles, but thought that she could keep matters +going until you had taken your degree. She will not sell the estate +before you have finished, and made yourself a new home.' + +Hede rose, and walked once or twice up and down the floor. Then he +stopped opposite Alin. + +'But what on earth are you driving at, Alin? Do you want to make me +believe that we are not rich?' + +'I know quite well that, until lately, you have been considered rich +people at home,' Alin said. 'But you can understand that things must +come to an end when it is a case of always spending and never earning +anything. It was a different thing when you had the mine.' + +Hede sat down again. + +'My mother would surely have told me if there were anything the matter,' +he said. 'I am grateful to you, Alin; but you have allowed yourself to +be frightened by some silly stories.' + +'I thought that you did not know anything,' Alin continued obstinately. +'At Munkhyttan your mother saves and works in order to get the money to +keep you at Upsala, and to make it cheerful and pleasant for you when +you are at home in the vacations. And in the meantime you are here doing +nothing, because you don't know there is trouble coming. I could not +stand any longer seeing you deceiving each other. Her ladyship thought +you were studying, and you thought she was rich. I could not let you +destroy your prospects without saying anything.' + +Hede sat quietly for a moment, and meditated. Then he rose and gave Alin +his hand with rather a sad smile. + +'You understand that I feel you are speaking the truth, even if I _will_ +not believe you? Thanks.' + +Alin joyfully shook his hand. + +'You must know, Hede, that if you will only work no harm is done. With +your brains, you can take your degree in three or four years.' + +Hede straightened himself. + +'Do not be uneasy, Alin,' he said; 'I am going to work hard now.' + +Alin rose and went towards the door, but hesitated. Before he reached it +he turned round. + +'There was something else I wanted,' he said. He again became +embarrassed. 'I want you to lend me your violin until you have commenced +reading in earnest.' + +'Lend you my violin?' + +'Yes; pack it up in a silk handkerchief, and put it in the case, and let +me take it with me, or otherwise you will read to no purpose. You will +begin to play as soon as I am out of the room. You are so accustomed to +it now you cannot resist if you have it here. One cannot get over that +kind of thing unless someone helps one; it gets the mastery over one.' + +Hede appeared unwilling. + +'This is madness, you know,' he said. + +'No, Hede, it is not. You know you have inherited it from the Squire. It +runs in your blood. Ever since you have been your own master here in +Upsala you have done nothing else but play. You live here in the +outskirts of the town simply not to disturb anyone by your playing. You +cannot help yourself in this matter. Let me have the violin.' + +'Well,' said Hede, 'before I could not help playing, but now Munkhyttan +is at stake; I am more fond of my home than of my violin.' + +But Alin was determined, and continued to ask for the violin. + +'What is the good of it?' Hede said. 'If I want to play, I need not go +many steps to borrow another violin.' + +'I know that,' Alin replied, 'but I don't think it would be so bad with +another violin. It is your old Italian violin which is the greatest +danger for you. And besides, I would suggest your locking yourself in +for the first few days--only until you have got fairly started.' + +He begged and begged, but Hede resisted; he would not stand anything so +unreasonable as being a prisoner in his own room. + +Alin grew crimson. + +'I must have the violin with me,' he said, 'or it is no use at all.' He +spoke eagerly and excitedly. 'I had not intended to say anything about +it, but I know that it concerns more than Munkhyttan. I saw a young girl +at the Promotion Ball in the spring who, people said, was engaged to +you. I don't dance, you know, but I liked to watch her when she was +dancing, looking radiant like one of the lilies of the field. And when I +heard that she was engaged to you, I felt sorry for her.' + +'Why?' + +'Because I knew that you would never succeed if you continued as you had +begun. And then I swore that she should not have to spend her whole life +waiting for one who never came. She should not sit and wither whilst +waiting for you. I did not want to meet her in a few years with +sharpened features and deep wrinkles round her mouth----' + +He stopped suddenly; Hede's glance had rested so searchingly upon him. + +But Gunnar Hede had already understood that Alin was in love with his +_fianc['e]e_. It moved him deeply that Alin under these circumstances +tried to save him, and, influenced by this feeling, he yielded and gave +him the violin. + +When Alin had gone, Hede read desperately for a whole hour, but then he +threw away his book. + +It was not of much good his reading. It would be three or four years +before he could be finished, and who could guarantee that the estate +would not be sold in the meantime? + +He felt almost with terror how deeply he loved the old home. It was like +witchery. Every room, every tree, stood clearly before him. He felt he +could not part with any of it if he were to be happy. And he was to sit +quietly with his books whilst all this was about to pass away from him. + +He became more and more restless; he felt the blood beating in his +temples as if in a fever. And then he grew quite beside himself because +he could not take his violin and play himself calm again. + +'My God!' he said, 'Alin will drive me mad. First to tell me all this, +and then to take away my violin! A man like I must feel the bow between +his fingers in sorrow and in joy. I must do something; I must get money, +but I have not an idea in my head. I cannot think without my violin.' + +He could not endure the feeling of being locked in. He was so angry with +Alin, who had thought of this absurd plan, that he was afraid he might +strike him the next time he came. + +Of course he would have played, if he had had the violin, for that was +just what he needed. His blood rushed so wildly, that he was nearly +going out of his mind. + +Just as Hede was longing most for his violin a wandering musician began +to play outside. It was an old blind man. He played out of tune and +without expression, but Hede was so overcome by hearing a violin just at +this moment that he listened with tears in his eyes and with his hands +folded. + +The next moment he flung open the window and climbed to the ground by +the help of the creepers. He had no compunction at leaving his work. He +thought the violin had simply come to comfort him in his misfortune. + +Hede had probably never before begged so humbly for anything as he did +now, when he asked the old blind man to lend him his violin. He stood +the whole time with his cap in his hand, although the old man was blind. + +The musician did not seem to understand what he wanted. He turned to the +young girl who was leading him. Hede bowed to the poor girl and repeated +his request. She looked at him, as if she must have eyes for them both. +The glance from her big eyes was so steady that Hede thought he could +feel where it struck him. It began with his collar, and it noticed that +the frills of his shirt were well starched, then it saw that his coat +was brushed, next that his boots were polished. + +Hede had never before been subjected to such close scrutiny. He saw +clearly that he would not pass muster before those eyes. + +But it was not so, all the same. The young girl had a strange way of +smiling. Her face was so serious, that one had the impression when she +smiled that it was the first and only time she had ever looked happy; +and now one of these rare smiles passed over her lips. She took the +violin from the old man and handed it to Hede. + +'Play the waltz from "Freisch[:u]tz," then,' she said. + +Hede thought it was strange that he should have to play a waltz just at +that moment, but, as a matter of fact, it was all the same to him what +he played, if he could only have a bow in his hand. That was all he +wanted. The violin at once began to comfort him; it spoke to him in +faint, cracked tones. + +'I am only a poor man's violin,' it said; 'but such as I am, I am a +comfort and help to a poor blind man. I am the light and the colour and +the brightness in his life. It is I who must comfort him in his poverty +and old age and blindness.' + +Hede felt that the terrible depression that had cowed his hopes began to +give way. + +'You are young and strong,' the violin said to him. 'You can fight and +strive; you can hold fast that which tries to escape you. Why are you +downcast and without courage?' + +Hede had played with lowered eyes; now he threw back his head and looked +at those who stood around him. There was quite a crowd of children and +people from the street, who had come into the yard to listen to the +music. It appeared, however, that they had not come solely for the sake +of the music. The blind man and his companion were not the only ones in +the troupe. + +Opposite Hede stood a figure in tights and spangles, and with bare arms +crossed over his chest. He looked old and worn, but Hede could not help +thinking that he looked a devil of a fellow with his high chest and long +moustaches. And beside him stood his wife, little and fat, and not so +very young either, but beaming with joy over her spangles and flowing +gauze skirts. + +During the first bars of the music they stood still and counted, then a +gracious smile passed over their faces, and they took each other's hands +and began to dance on a small carpet. And Hede saw that during all the +equilibristic tricks they now performed the woman stood almost still, +whilst her husband did all the work. He sprang over her, and twirled +round her, and vaulted over her. The woman scarcely did anything else +but kiss her hand to the spectators. + +But Hede did not really take much notice of them. His bow began to fly +over the strings. It told him that there was happiness in fighting and +overcoming. It almost deemed him happy because everything was at stake +for him. Hede stood there, playing courage and hope into himself, and +did not think of the old tight-rope dancers. + +But suddenly he saw that they grew restless. They no longer smiled; they +left off kissing their hands to the spectators; the acrobat made +mistakes, and his wife began to sway to and fro in waltz time. + +Hede played more and more eagerly. He left off 'Freisch[:u]tz' and rushed +into an old 'Nixie Polka,' one which generally sent all the people mad +when played at the peasant festivals. + +The old tight-rope dancers quite lost their heads. They stood in +breathless astonishment, and at last they could resist no longer. They +sprang into each other's arms, and then they began to dance a waltz in +the middle of the carpet. + +How they danced! dear me, how they danced! They took small, tripping +steps, and whirled round in a small circle; they hardly went outside the +carpet, and their faces beamed with joy and delight. There was the +happiness of youth and the rapture of love over these two old people. + +The whole crowd was jubilant at seeing them dance. The serious little +companion of the blind man smiled all over her face, and Hede grew much +excited. + +Just fancy what an effect his violin could have! It made people quite +forget themselves. It was a great power to have at his disposal. Any +moment he liked he could take possession of his kingdom. Only a couple +of years' study abroad with a great master, and he could go all over the +world, and by his playing earn riches and honour and fame. + +It seemed to Hede that these acrobats must have come to tell him this. +That was the road he should follow; it lay before him clear and smooth. +He said to himself: 'I will--I _will_ become a musician! I _must_ be +one! This is better than studying. I can charm my fellow-men with my +violin; I can become rich.' + +Hede stopped playing. The acrobats at once came up and complimented him. +The man said his name was Blomgren. That was his real name; he had other +names when he performed. He and his wife were old circus people. Mrs. +Blomgren in former days had been called Miss Viola, and had performed on +horseback; and although they had now left the circus, they were still +true artists--artists body and soul. That he had probably already +noticed; that was why they could not resist his violin. + +Hede walked about with the acrobats for a couple of hours. He could not +part with the violin, and the old artists' enthusiasm for their +profession appealed to him. He was simply testing himself. 'I want to +find out whether there is the proper stuff for an artist in me. I want +to see if I can call forth enthusiasm. I want to see whether I can make +children and idlers follow me from house to house.' + +On their way from house to house Mr. Blomgren threw an old threadbare +mantle around him, and Mrs. Blomgren enveloped herself in a brown cloak. +Thus arrayed, they walked at Hede's side and talked. + +Mr. Blomgren would not speak of all the honour he and Mrs. Blomgren had +received during the time they had performed in a real circus; but the +_directeur_ had given Mrs. Blomgren her dismissal under the pretence +that she was getting too stout. Mr. Blomgren had not been dismissed: he +had himself resigned his position. Surely no one could think that Mr. +Blomgren would remain with a _directeur_ who had dismissed his wife! + +Mrs. Blomgren loved her art, and for her sake Mr. Blomgren had made up +his mind to live as a free artist, so that she could still continue to +perform. During the winter, when it was too cold to give performances in +the street, they performed in a tent. They had a very comprehensive +repertoire. They gave pantomimes, and were jugglers and conjurers. + +The circus had cast them off, but Art had not, said Mr. Blomgren. They +served Art always. It was well worth being faithful to Art, even unto +death. Always artists--always. That was Mr. Blomgren's opinion, and it +was also Mrs. Blomgren's. + +Hede walked quietly and listened. His thoughts flew restlessly from plan +to plan. Sometimes events happen which become like symbols, like signs, +which one must obey. There must be some meaning in what had now happened +to him. If he could only understand it rightly, it might help him +towards arriving at a wise resolution. + +Mr. Blomgren asked the student to notice the young girl who was leading +the blind man. Had he ever before seen such eyes? Did he not think that +such eyes must mean something? Could one have those eyes without being +intended for something great? + +Hede turned round and looked at the little pale girl. Yes, she had eyes +like stars, set in a sad and rather thin face. + +'Our Lord knows always what He is about,' said Mrs. Blomgren; 'and I +also believe that He has some reason for letting such an artist as Mr. +Blomgren perform in the street. But what was He thinking about when He +gave that girl those eyes and that smile?' + +'I will tell you something,' said Mr. Blomgren; 'she has not the +slightest talent for Art. And with those eyes!' + +Hede had a suspicion that they were not talking to him, but simply for +the benefit of the young girl. She was walking just behind them, and +could hear every word. + +'She is not more than thirteen years old, and not by any means too old +to learn something; but, impossible--impossible, without the slightest +talent! If one does not want to waste one's time, sir, teach her to sew, +but not to stand on her head. Her smile makes people quite mad about +her,' Mr. Blomgren continued. 'Simply on account of her smile she has +had many offers from families wishful to adopt her. She could grow up in +a well-to-do home if she would only leave her grandfather. But what does +she want with a smile that makes people mad about her, when she will +never appear either on horseback or on a trapeze?' + +'We know other artists,' said Mrs. Blomgren, 'who pick up children in +the street and train them for the profession when they cannot perform +any longer themselves. There is more than one who has been lucky enough +to create a star and obtain immense salaries for her. But Mr. Blomgren +and I have never thought of the money; we have only thought of some day +seeing Ingrid flying through a hoop whilst the whole circus resounded +with applause. For us it would have been as if we were beginning life +over again.' + +'Why do we keep her grandfather?' said Mr. Blomgren. 'Is he an artist +fit for us? We could, no doubt, have got a previous member of a +Hofkapell if we had wished. But we love that child; we cannot do without +her; we keep the old man for her sake.' + +'Is it not naughty of her that she will not allow us to make an artist +of her?' they said. + +Hede turned round. The little girl's face wore an expression of +suffering and patience. He could see that she knew that anyone who could +not dance on the tight-rope was a stupid and contemptible person. + +At the same moment they came to another house, but before they began +their performance Hede sat down on an overturned wheelbarrow and began +to preach. He defended the poor little girl. He reproached Mr. and Mrs. +Blomgren for wishing to hand her over to the great, cruel public, who +would love and applaud her for a time, but when she grew old and worn +out, they would let her trudge along the streets in rain and cold. No; +he or she was artist enough, who made a fellow-being happy. Ingrid +should only have eyes and smiles for one, should keep them for one only; +and this one should never leave her, but give her a safe home as long as +he lived. + +Tears came into Hede's eyes whilst he spoke. He spoke more to himself +than to the others. He felt it suddenly as something terrible to be +thrust out into the world, to be severed from the quiet home-life. He +saw that the great, star-like eyes of the girl began to sparkle. It +seemed as if she had understood every single word. It seemed as if she +again felt the right to live. + +But Mr. Blomgren and his wife had become very serious. They pressed +Hede's hand and promised him that they would never again try and +persuade the little girl to become an artist. She should be allowed to +lead the life she wished. He had touched them. They were +artists--artists body and soul; they understood what he meant when he +spoke of love and faithfulness. + +Then Hede parted from them and went home. He no longer tried to find any +secret meaning in his adventure. After all, it had meant nothing more +than that he should save this poor sorrowful child from always grieving +over her incapacity. + + +II + +Munkhyttan, the home of Gunnar Hede, was situated in a poor parish in +the forests of Vesterdalarne. It was a large, thinly-populated parish, +with which Nature had dealt very stingily. There were stony, +forest-covered hills, and many small lakes. The people could not +possibly have earned a livelihood there had they not had the right to +travel about the country as pedlars. But to make up for it, the whole of +this poor district was full of old tales of how poor peasant lads and +lassies had gone into the world with a pack of goods on their backs, to +return in gilded coaches, with the boxes under the seats filled with +money. + +One of the very best stories was about Hede's grandfather. He was the +son of a poor musician, and had grown up with his violin in his hand, +and when he was seventeen years old he had gone out into the world with +his pack on his back. But wherever he went his violin had helped him in +his business. He had by turns gathered people together by his music and +sold them silk handkerchiefs, combs, and pins. All his trading had been +brought about with music and merriment, and things had gone so well with +him that he had at last been able to buy Munkhyttan, with its mine and +ironworks, from the poverty-stricken Baron who then owned the property. +Then he became the Squire, and the pretty daughter of the Baron became +his wife. + +From that time the old family, as they were always called, had thought +of nothing else but beautifying the place. They removed the main +building on to the beautiful island which lay on the edge of a small +lake, round which lay their fields and their mines. The upper story had +been added in their time, for they wanted to have plenty of room for +their numerous guests; and they had also added the two large flights of +steps outside. They had planted ornamental trees all over the +fir-covered island. They had made small winding pathways in the stony +soil, and on the most beautiful spots they had built small pavilions, +hanging like large birds'-nests over the lake. The beautiful French +roses that grew on the terrace, the Dutch furniture, the Italian violin, +had all been brought to the house by them. And it was they who had built +the wall protecting the orchard from the north wind, and the +conservatory. + +The old family were merry, kind-hearted, old-fashioned people. The +Squire's wife certainly liked to be a little aristocratic; but that was +not at all in the old Squire's line. In the midst of all the luxury +which surrounded him he never forgot what he had been, and in the room +where he transacted his business, and where people came and went, the +pack and the red-painted, home-made violin were hung right above the old +man's desk. + +Even after his death the pack and the violin remained in the same place. +And every time the old man's son and grandson saw them their hearts +swelled with gratitude. It was these two poor implements that had +created Munkhyttan, and Munkhyttan was the best thing in the world. + +Whatever the reason might be--and it was probably because it seemed +natural to the place that one lived a good, genial life there, free from +trouble--Hede's family clung to the place with greater love than was +good for it. And more especially Gunnar Hede was so strongly attached to +it that people said that it was incorrect to say of him that he owned an +estate. On the contrary, it was an old estate in Vesterdalarne that +owned Gunnar Hede. + +If he had not made himself a slave of an old rambling manor-house and +some acres of land and forest, and some stunted apple-trees, he would +probably have continued his studies, or, better still, gone abroad to +study music, which, after all, was no doubt his proper vocation in this +world. But when he returned from Upsala, and it became clear to him that +they really would have to sell the estate if he could not soon earn a +lot of money, he decided upon giving up all his other plans, and made up +his mind to go out into the world as a pedlar, as his grandfather before +him had done. + +His mother and his _fianc['e]e_ besought him rather to sell the place than +to sacrifice himself for it in this manner, but he was not to be moved. +He put on peasant's attire, bought goods, and began to travel about the +country as a pedlar. He thought that if he only traded a couple of years +he could earn enough to pay the debt and save the estate. + +And as far as the latter was concerned he was successful enough. But he +brought upon himself a terrible misfortune. + +When he had walked about with his pack for a year or so he thought that +he would try and earn a large sum of money at one stroke. He went far +north and bought a large flock of goats, about a couple of hundred. And +he and a comrade intended to drive them down to a large fair in +Vermland, where goats cost twice as much as in the north. If he +succeeded in selling all his goats, he would do a very good business. + +It was in the beginning of November, and there had not yet been any +snow, when Hede and his comrade set out with their goats. The first day +everything went well with them, but the second day, when they came to +the great Fifty-Mile Forest, it began to snow. Much snow fell, and it +stormed and blew severely. It was not long before it became difficult +for the animals to make their way through the snow. Goats are certainly +both plucky and hardy animals, and the herd struggled on for a +considerable time; but the snow-storm lasted two days and two nights, +and it was terribly cold. + +Hede did all he could to save the animals, but after the snow began to +fall he could get them neither food nor water. And when they had worked +their way through deep snow for a whole day they became very footsore. +Their feet hurt them, and they would not go any longer. The first goat +that threw itself down by the roadside and would not get up again and +follow the herd Hede lifted on to his shoulder so as not to leave it +behind. But when another and again another lay down he could not carry +them. There was nothing to do but to look the other way and go on. + +Do you know what the Fifty-Mile Forest is like? Not a farmhouse, not a +cottage, mile after mile, only forest; tall-stemmed fir-trees, with bark +as hard as wood, and high branches; no young trees with soft bark and +soft twigs that the animals could eat. If there had been no snow, they +could have got through the forest in a couple of days; now they could +not get through it at all. All the goats were left there, and the men +too nearly perished. They did not meet a single human being the whole +time. No one helped them. + +Hede tried to throw the snow to one side so that the goats could eat the +moss; but the snow fell so thickly, and the moss was frozen fast to the +ground. And how could he get food for two hundred animals in this way? + +He bore it bravely until the goats began to moan. The first day they +were a lively, rather noisy herd. He had had hard work to make them all +keep together, and prevent them from butting each other to death. But +when they seemed to understand that they could not be saved their +nature changed, and they completely lost their courage. They all began +to bleat and moan, not faintly and peevishly, as goats usually do, but +loudly, louder and louder as the danger increased. And when Hede heard +their cries he felt quite desperate. + +They were in the midst of the wild, desolate forest; there was no help +whatever obtainable. Goat after goat dropped down by the roadside. The +snow gathered round them and covered them. When Hede looked back at this +row of drifts by the wayside, each hiding the body of an animal, of +which one could still see the projecting horns and the hoofs, then his +brain began to give way. + +He rushed at the animals, which allowed themselves to be covered by the +snow, swung his whip over them, and hit them. It was the only way to +save them, but they did not stir. He took them by the horns and dragged +them along. They allowed themselves to be dragged, but they did not move +a foot themselves. When he let go his hold of their horns, they licked +his hands, as if beseeching him to help them. As soon as he went up to +them they licked his hands. + +All this had such a strong effect upon Hede that he felt he was on the +point of going out of his mind. + +It is not certain, however, that things would have gone so badly with +him had he not, after it was all over in the forest, gone to see one +whom he loved dearly. It was not his mother, but his sweetheart. He +thought himself that he had gone there because he ought to tell her at +once that he had lost so much money that he would not be able to marry +for many years. But no doubt he went to see her solely to hear her say +that she loved him quite as much in spite of his misfortunes. He thought +that she could drive away the memory of the Fifty-Mile Forest. + +She could, perhaps, have done this, but she would not. She was already +displeased because Hede went about with a pack and looked like a +peasant; she thought that for that reason alone it was difficult to love +him as much as before. Now, when he told her that he must still go on +doing this for many years, she said that she could no longer wait for +him. This last blow was too much for Hede; his mind gave way. + +He did not grow quite mad, however; he retained so much of his senses +that he could attend to his business. He even did better than others, +for it amused people to make fun of him; he was always welcome at the +peasants' houses. People plagued and teased him, but that was in a way +good for him, as he was so anxious to become rich. And in the course of +a few years he had earned enough to pay all his debts, and he could have +lived free from worry on his estate. But this he did not understand; he +went about half-witted and silly from farm to farm, and he had no longer +any idea to what class of people he really belonged. + + +III + +Raglanda was the name of a parish in the north of East Vermland, near +the borders of Dalarne, where the Dean had a large house, but the pastor +only a small and poor one. But poor as they were at the small parsonage, +they had been charitable enough to adopt a poor girl. She was a little +girl, Ingrid by name, and she had come to the parsonage when she was +thirteen years old. + +The pastor had accidentally seen her at a fair, where she sat crying +outside the tent of some acrobats. He had stopped and asked her why she +was crying, and she had told him that her blind grandfather was dead, +and that she had no relatives left. She now travelled with a couple of +acrobats, and they were good to her, but she cried because she was so +stupid that she could never learn to dance on the tight-rope and help to +earn any money. + +There was a sorrowful grace over the child which touched the pastor's +heart. He said at once to himself that he could not allow such a little +creature to go to the bad amongst these wandering tramps. He went into +the tent, where he saw Mr. and Mrs. Blomgren, and offered to take the +child home with him. The old acrobats began to weep, and said that +although the girl was entirely unfitted for the profession, they would +so very much like to keep her; but at the same time they thought she +would be happier in a real home with people who lived in the same place +all the year round, and therefore they were willing to give her up to +the pastor if he would only promise them that she should be like one of +his own children. + +This he had promised, and from that time the young girl had lived at the +parsonage. She was a quiet, gentle child, full of love and tender care +for those around her. At first her adopted parents loved her very +dearly, but as she grew older she developed a strong inclination to lose +herself in dreams and fancies. She lived in a world of visions, and in +the middle of the day she could let her work fall and be lost in dreams. +But the pastor's wife, who was a clever and hard-working woman, did not +approve of this. She found fault with the young girl for being lazy and +slow, and tormented her by her severity so that she became timid and +unhappy. + +When she had completed her nineteenth year, she fell dangerously ill. +They did not quite know what was the matter with her, for this happened +long ago, when there was no doctor at Raglanda, but the girl was very +ill. They soon saw she was so ill that she could not live. + +She herself did nothing but pray to God that He would take her away from +this world. She would so like to die, she said. + +Then it seemed as if our Lord would try whether she was in earnest. One +night she felt that she grew stiff and cold all over her body, and a +heavy lethargy fell upon her. 'I think this must be death,' she said to +herself. + +But the strange thing was that she did not quite lose consciousness. She +knew that she lay as if she were dead, knew that they wrapped her in +her shroud and laid her in her coffin, but she felt no fear of being +buried, although she was still alive. She had but the one thought that +she was happy because she was about to die and leave this troublesome +life. + +The only thing she was uneasy about was lest they should discover that +she was not really dead and would not bury her. Life must have been very +bitter to her, inasmuch as she felt no fear of death whatever. + +But no one discovered that she was living. She was conveyed to the +church, carried to the churchyard, and lowered into the grave. + +The grave, however, was not filled in; she had been buried before the +service on Sunday morning, as was the custom at Raglanda. The mourners +had gone into church after the funeral, and the coffin was left in the +open grave; but as soon as the service was over they would come back, +and help the grave-digger to fill in the grave. + +The young girl knew everything that happened, but felt no fear. She had +not been able to make the slightest movement to show that she was alive, +even if she had wanted to; but even if she had been able to move, she +would not have done so; the whole time she was happy because she was as +good as dead. + +But, on the other hand, one could hardly say that she was alive. She had +neither the use of her mind nor of her senses. It was only that part of +the soul which dreams dreams during the night that was still living +within her. + +She could not even think enough to realize how terrible it would be for +her to awake when the grave was filled in. She had no more power over +her mind than has one who dreams. + +'I should like to know,' she thought, 'if there is anything in the whole +wide world that could make me wish to live.' + +As soon as that thought rushed through her it seemed to her as if the +lid of the coffin, and the handkerchief which had been placed over her +face, became transparent, and she saw before her riches and beautiful +raiment, and lovely gardens with delicious fruits. + +'No, I do not care for any of these things,' she said, and she closed +her eyes for their glories. + +When she again looked up they had disappeared, but instead she saw quite +distinctly a little angel of God sitting on the edge of the grave. + +'Good-morning, thou little angel of God,' she said to him. + +'Good-morning, Ingrid,' the angel said. 'Whilst thou art lying here +doing nothing, I would like to speak a little with thee about days gone +by.' + +Ingrid heard distinctly every word the angel said; but his voice was not +like anything she had ever heard before. It was more like a stringed +instrument; it was not like singing, but like the tones of a violin or +the clang of a harp. + +'Ingrid,' the angel said, 'dost thou remember, whilst thy grandfather +was still living, that thou once met a young student, who went with +thee from house to house playing the whole day on thy grandfather's +violin?' + +The girl's face was lighted by a smile. + +'Dost thou think I have forgotten this?' she said. 'Ever since that time +no day has passed when I have not thought of him.' + +'And no night when thou hast not dreamt of him?' + +'No, not a night when I have not dreamt of him.' + +'And thou wilt die, although thou rememberest him so well,' said the +angel. 'Then thou wilt never be able to see him again.' + +When he said this it was as if the dead girl felt all the happiness of +love, but even that could not tempt her. + +'No, no,' she said; 'I am afraid to live; I would rather die.' + +Then the angel waved his hand, and Ingrid saw before her a wide waste of +desert. There were no trees, and the desert was barren and dry and hot, +and extended in all directions without any limits. In the sand there +lay, here and there, objects which at the first glance looked like +pieces of rock, but when she examined them more closely, she saw they +were the immense living animals of fairy tales, with huge claws and +great jaws, with sharp teeth; they lay in the sand, watching for prey. +And between these terrible animals the student came walking along. He +went quite fearlessly, without suspecting that the figures around him +were living. + +'But warn him! do warn him!' Ingrid said to the angel in unspeakable +fear. 'Tell him that they are living, and that he must take care.' + +'I am not allowed to speak to him,' said the angel with his clear voice; +'thou must thyself warn him.' + +The apparently dead girl felt with horror that she lay powerless, and +could not rush to save the student. She made one futile effort after the +other to raise herself, but the impotence of death bound her. But then +at last, at last, she felt her heart begin to beat, the blood rushed +through her veins, the stiffness of death was loosened in her body. She +arose and hastened towards him. + + +IV + +It is quite certain the sun loves the open places outside the small +village churches. Has no one ever noticed that one never sees so much +sunshine as during the morning service outside a small, whitewashed +church? Nowhere else does one see such radiant streams of light, nowhere +else is the air so devoutly quiet. The sun simply keeps watch that no +one remains on the church hill gossiping. It wants them all to sit +quietly in church and listen to the sermon--that is why it sends such a +wealth of sunny rays on to the ground outside the church wall. + +Perhaps one must not take it for granted that the sun keeps watch +outside the small churches every Sunday; but so much is certain, that +the morning Ingrid had been placed in the grave in the churchyard at +Raglanda, it spread a burning heat over the open space outside the +church. Even the flint stones looked as if they might take fire as they +lay and sparkled in the wheel-ruts. The short, down-trodden grass +curled, so that it looked like dry moss, whilst the yellow dandelions +which grew amongst the grass spread themselves out on their long stems, +so that they became as large as asters. + +A man from Dalarne came wandering along the road--one of those men who +go about selling knives and scissors. He was clad in a long, white +sheep-skin coat, and on his back he had a large black leather pack. He +had been walking with this burden for several hours without finding it +too hot, but when he had left the highroad, and came to the open place +outside the church, he stopped and took off his hat in order to dry the +perspiration from his forehead. + +As the man stood there bare-headed, he looked both handsome and clever. +His forehead was high and white, with a deep wrinkle between the +eyebrows; the mouth was well formed, with thin lips. His hair was parted +in the middle; it was cut short at the back, but hung over his ears, and +was inclined to curl. He was tall, and strongly, but not coarsely, +built; in every respect well proportioned. But what was wrong about him +was his glance, which was unsteady, and the pupils of his eyes rolled +restlessly, and were drawn far into the sockets, as if to hide +themselves. There was something drawn about the mouth, something dull +and heavy, which did not seem to belong to the face. + +He could not be quite right, either, or he would not have dragged that +heavy pack about on a Sunday. If he had been quite in his senses, he +would have known that it was of no use, as he could not sell anything in +any case. None of the other men from Dalarne who walked about from +village to village bent their backs under this burden on a Sunday, but +they went to the house of God free and erect as other men. + +But this poor fellow probably did not know it was a holy day until he +stood in the sunshine outside the church and heard the singing. He was +sensible enough at once to understand that he could not do any business, +and then his brain began to work as to how he should spend the day. + +He stood for a long time and stared in front of him. When everything +went its usual course, he had no difficulty in managing. He was not so +bad but that he could go from farm to farm all through the week and +attend to his business, but he never could get accustomed to the +Sunday--that always came upon him as a great, unexpected trouble. + +His eyes became quite fixed, and the muscles of his forehead swelled. + +The first thought that took shape in his brain was that he should go +into the church and listen to the singing, but he would not accept this +suggestion. He was very fond of singing, but he dared not go into the +church. He was not afraid of human beings, but in some churches there +were such quaint, uncanny pictures, which represented creatures of which +he would rather not think. + +At last his brain worked round to the thought that, as this was a +church, there would probably also be a churchyard, and when he could +take refuge in a churchyard all was well. One could not offer him +anything better. If on his wanderings he saw a churchyard, he always +went in and sat there awhile, even if it were in the middle of a +workaday week. + +Now that he wanted to go to the churchyard a new difficulty suddenly +arose. The burial-place at Raglanda does not lie quite near the church, +which is built on a hill, but on the other side of the road; and he +could not get to the entrance of the churchyard without passing along +the road where the horses of the church-goers were standing tied up. + +All the horses stood with their heads deep in bundles of hay and +nosebags, chewing. There was no question of their being able to do the +man any harm, but he had his own ideas as to the danger of going past +such a long row of animals. + +Two or three times he made an attempt, but his courage failed him, so +that he was obliged to turn back. He was not afraid that the horses +would bite or kick. It was quite enough for him that they were so near +that they could see him. It was quite enough that they could shake their +bridles and scrape the earth with their hoofs. + +At last a moment came when all the horses were looking down, and seemed +to be eating for a wager. Then he began to make his way between them. He +held his sheepskin cloak tightly around him so that it should not flap +and betray him, and he went on tiptoe as lightly as he could. When a +horse raised its eyelid and looked at him, he at once stopped and +curtsied. He wanted to be polite in this great danger, but surely +animals were amenable to reason, and could understand that he could not +bow when he had a pack full of hardware upon his back; he could only +curtsy. + +He sighed deeply, for in this world it was a sad and troublesome thing +to be so afraid of all four-footed animals as he was. He was really not +afraid of any other animals than goats, and he would not have been at +all afraid of horses and dogs and cats had he only been quite sure that +they were not a kind of transformed goats. But he never was quite sure +of that, so as a matter of fact it was just as bad for him as if he had +been afraid of all kinds of four-footed animals. + +It was no use his thinking of how strong he was, and that these small +peasant horses never did any harm to anyone: he who has become possessed +of such fears cannot reason with himself. Fear is a heavy burden, and it +is hard for him who must always carry it. + +It was strange that he managed to get past all the horses. The last few +steps he took in two long jumps, and when he got into the churchyard he +closed the gate after him, and began to threaten the horses with his +clenched fist. + +'You wretched, miserable, accursed goats!' + +He did that to all animals. He could not help calling them goats, and +that was very stupid of him, for it had procured him a name which he did +not like. Everyone who met him called him the 'Goat.' But he would not +own to this name. He wanted to be called by his proper name, but +apparently no one knew his real name in that district. + +He stood a little while at the gate, rejoicing at having escaped from +the horses, but he soon went further into the churchyard. At every cross +and every stone he stopped and curtsied, but this was not from fear: +this was simply from joy at seeing these dear old friends. All at once +he began to look quite gentle and mild. They were exactly the same +crosses and stones he had so often seen before. They looked just as +usual. How well he knew them again! He must say 'Good-morning' to them. + +How nice it was in the churchyard! There were no animals about there, +and there were no people to make fun of him. It was best there, when it +was quite quiet as now; but even if there were people, they did not +disturb him. He certainly knew many pretty meadows and woods which he +liked still better, but there he was never left in peace. They could not +by any means compare with the churchyard. And the churchyard was better +than the forest, for in the forest the loneliness was so great that he +was frightened by it. Here it was quiet, as in the depths of the +forest; but he was not without company. Here people were sleeping under +every stone and every mound; just the company he wanted in order not to +feel lonely and strange. + +He went straight to the open grave. He went there partly because there +were some shady trees, and partly because he wanted company. He thought, +perhaps, that the dead who had so recently been laid in the grave might +be a better protection against his loneliness than those who had passed +away long ago. + +He bent his knees, with his back to the great mound of earth at the edge +of the grave, and succeeded in pushing the pack upwards, so that it +stood firmly on the mound, and he then loosened the heavy straps that +fastened it. It was a great day--a holiday. He also took off his coat. +He sat down on the grass with a feeling of great pleasure, so close to +the grave that his long legs, with the stockings tied under the knee, +and the heavy laced shoes dangled over the edge of the grave. + +For a while he sat still, with his eyes steadily fixed upon the coffin. +When one was possessed by such fear as he was, one could not be too +careful. But the coffin did not move in the least; it was impossible to +suspect it of containing any snare. + +He was no sooner certain of this than he put his hand into a side-pocket +of the pack and took out a violin and bow, and at the same time he +nodded to the dead in the grave. As he was so quiet he should hear +something pretty. + +This was something very unusual for him. There were not many who were +allowed to hear him play. No one was ever allowed to hear him play at +the farms, where they set the dogs at him and called him the 'Goat'; but +sometimes he would play in a house where they spoke softly, and went +about quietly, and did not ask him if he wanted to buy any goat-skins. +At such places he took out his violin and treated them to some music; +and this was a great favour--the greatest he could bestow upon anybody. + +As he sat there and played at the edge of the grave it did not sound +amiss; he did not play a wrong note, and he played so softly and gently +that it could hardly be heard at the next grave. The strange thing about +it was that it was not the man who could play, but it was his violin +that could remember some small melodies. They came forth from the violin +as soon as he let the bow glide over it. It might not, perhaps, have +meant so much to others, but for him, who could not remember a single +tune, it was the most precious gift of all to possess such a violin that +could play by itself. + +Whilst he played he sat with a beaming smile on his face. It was the +violin that spoke and spoke; he only listened. Was it not strange that +one heard all these beautiful things as soon as one let the bow glide +over the strings? The violin did that. It knew how it ought to be, and +the Dalar man only sat and listened. Melodies grew out of that violin as +grass grows out of the earth. No one could understand how it happened. +Our Lord had ordered it so. + +The Dalar man intended to remain sitting there the whole day, and let +the dear tunes grow out of the violin like small white and many-coloured +flowers. He would play a whole meadowful of flowers, play a whole long +valleyful, a whole wide plain. + +But she who lay in the coffin distinctly heard the violin, and upon her +it had a strange effect. The tones had made her dream, and what she had +seen in her dreams caused her such emotion that her heart began to beat, +her blood to flow, and she awoke. + +But all she had lived through while she lay there, apparently dead, the +thoughts she had had, and also her last dream--everything vanished in +the same moment she awoke to consciousness. She did not even know that +she was lying in her coffin, but thought she was still lying ill at home +in her bed. She only thought it strange that she was still alive. A +little while ago, before she fell asleep, she had been in the pangs of +death. Surely, all must have been over with her long ago. She had taken +leave of her adopted parents, and of her brothers and sisters, and of +the servants. The Dean had been there himself to administer the last +Communion, for her adopted father did not think he could bear to give it +to her himself. For several days she had put away all earthly thoughts +from her mind. It was incomprehensible that she was not dead. + +She wondered why it was so dark in the room where she lay. There had +been a light all the other nights during her illness. And then they had +let the blankets fall off the bed. She was lying there getting as cold +as ice. She raised herself a little to pull the blankets over her. In +doing so she knocked her head against the lid of the coffin, and fell +back with a little scream of pain. She had knocked herself rather +severely, and immediately became unconscious again. She lay as +motionless as before, and it seemed as if life had again left her. + +The Dalar man, who had heard both the knock and the cry, immediately +laid down his violin and sat listening; but there was nothing more to be +heard--nothing whatever. He began again to look at the coffin as +attentively as before. He sat nodding his head, as if he would say 'Yes' +to what he was himself thinking about, namely, that nothing in this +world was to be depended upon. Here he had had the best and most silent +of comrades, but had he not also been disappointed in him? + +He sat and looked at the coffin, as if trying to see right through it. +At last, when it continued quite still, he took his violin again and +began to play. But the violin would not play any longer. However gently +and tenderly he drew his bow, there came forth no melody. This was so +sad that he was nearly crying. He had intended to sit still and listen +to his violin the whole day, and now it would not play any more. + +He could quite understand the reason. The violin was uneasy and afraid +of what had moved in the coffin. It had forgotten all its melodies, and +thought only of what it could be that had knocked at the coffin-lid. +That is how it is one forgets everything when one is afraid. He saw +that he would have to quiet the violin if he wanted to hear more. + +He had felt so happy, more so than for many years. If there was really +anything bad in the coffin, would it not be better to let it out? Then +the violin would be glad, and beautiful flowers would again grow out of +it. + +He quickly opened his big pack, and began to rummage amongst his knives +and saws and hammers until he found a screw-driver. In another moment he +was down in the grave on his knees and unscrewing the coffin-lid. He +took out one screw after the other, until at last he could raise the lid +against the side of the grave; at the same moment the handkerchief fell +from off the face of the apparently dead girl. As soon as the fresh air +reached Ingrid, she opened her eyes. Now she saw that it was light. They +must have removed her. Now she was lying in a yellow chamber with a +green ceiling, and a large chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. The +chamber was small, but the bed was still smaller. Why had she the +sensation of her arms and legs being tied? Was it because she should lie +still in the little narrow bed? It was strange that they had placed a +hymn-book under her chin; they only did that with corpses. Between her +fingers she had a little bouquet. Her adopted mother had cut a few +sprigs from her flowering myrtle, and laid them in her hands. Ingrid was +very much surprised. What had come to her adopted mother? She saw that +they had given her a pillow with broad lace, and a fine hem-stitched +sheet. She was very glad of that; she liked to have things nice. Still, +she would rather have had a warm blanket over her. It could surely not +be good for a sick person to lie without a blanket. Ingrid was nearly +putting her hands to her eyes and beginning to cry, she was so bitterly +cold. At the same moment she felt something hard and cold against her +cheek. She could not help smiling. It was the old, red wooden horse, the +old three-legged Camilla, that lay beside her on the pillow. Her little +brother, who could never sleep at night without having it with him in +his bed, had put it in her bed. It was very sweet of her little brother. +Ingrid felt still more inclined to cry when she understood that her +little brother had wanted to comfort her with his wooden horse. + +But she did not get so far as crying. The truth all at once flashed upon +her. Her little brother had given her the wooden horse, and her mother +had given her her white myrtle flowers, and the hymn-book had been +placed under her chin, because they had thought she was dead. + +Ingrid took hold of the sides of the coffin with both hands and raised +herself. The little narrow bed was a coffin, and the little narrow +chamber was a grave. It was all very difficult to understand. She could +not understand that this concerned her, that it was she who had been +swathed like a corpse and placed in the grave. She must be lying all the +same in her bed, and be seeing or dreaming all this. She would soon find +out that this was no reality, but that everything was as usual. + +All at once she found the explanation of the whole thing--'I often have +such strange dreams. This is only a vision'--and she sighed, relieved +and happy. She laid herself down in her coffin again; she was so sure +that it was her own bed, for that was not very wide either. + +All this time the Dalar man stood in the grave, quite close to the foot +of the coffin. He only stood a few feet from her, but she had not seen +him; that was probably because he had tried to hide himself in the +corner of the grave as soon as the dead in the coffin had opened her +eyes and begun to move. She could, perhaps, have seen him, although he +held the coffin-lid before him as a screen, had there not been something +like a white mist before her eyes so that she could only see things +quite near her distinctly. Ingrid could not even see that there were +earthen walls around her. She had taken the sun to be a large +chandelier, and the shady lime-trees for a roof. The poor Dalar man +stood and waited for the thing that moved in the coffin to go away. It +did not strike him that it would not go unrequested. Had it not knocked +because it wanted to get out? He stood for a long time with his head +behind the coffin-lid and waited, that it should go. He peeped over the +lid when he thought that now it must have gone. But it had not moved; it +remained lying on its bed of shavings. + +He could not put up with it any longer; he must really make an end of +it. It was a long time since his violin had spoken so prettily as +to-day, he longed to sit again quietly with it. Ingrid, who had nearly +fallen asleep again, suddenly heard herself addressed in the sing-song +Dalar dialect: + +'Now, I think it is time you got up.' + +As soon as he had said this he hid his head. He shook so much over his +boldness that he nearly let the lid fall. + +But the white mist which had been before Ingrid's eyes disappeared +completely when she heard a human being speaking. She saw a man standing +in the corner, at the foot of the coffin, holding a coffin-lid before +him. She saw at once that she could not lie down again and think it was +a vision. Surely he was a reality, which she must try and make out. It +certainly looked as if the coffin were a coffin, and the grave a grave, +and that she herself a few minutes ago was nothing but a swathed and +buried corpse. For the first time she was terror-stricken at what had +happened to her. To think that she could really have been dead that +moment! She could have been a hideous corpse, food for worms. She had +been placed in the coffin for them to throw earth upon her; she was +worth no more than a piece of turf; she had been thrown aside +altogether. The worms were welcome to eat her; no one would mind about +that. + +Ingrid needed so badly to have a fellow-creature near her in her great +terror. She had recognized the Goat directly he put up his head. He was +an old acquaintance from the parsonage; she was not in the least afraid +of him. She wanted him to come close to her. She did not mind in the +least that he was an idiot. He was, at any rate, a living being. She +wanted him to come so near to her that she could feel she belonged to +the living and not to the dead. + +'Oh, for God's sake, come close to me!' she said, with tears in her +voice. + +She raised herself in the coffin and stretched out her arms to him. + +But the Dalar man only thought of himself. If she were so anxious to +have him near her, he resolved to make his own terms. + +'Yes,' he said, 'if you will go away.' + +Ingrid at once tried to comply with his request, but she was so tightly +swathed in the sheet that she found it difficult to get up. + +'You must come and help me,' she said. + +She said this, partly because she was obliged to do it, and partly +because she was afraid that she had not quite escaped death. She must be +near someone living. + +He actually went near her, squeezing himself between the coffin and the +side of the grave. He bent over her, lifted her out of the coffin, and +put her down on the grass at the side of the open grave. + +Ingrid could not help it. She threw her arms round his neck, laid her +head on his shoulder and sobbed. Afterwards she could not understand how +she had been able to do this, and that she was not afraid of him. It was +partly from joy that he was a human being--a living human being--and +partly from gratitude, because he had saved her. + +What would have become of her if it had not been for him? It was he who +had raised the coffin-lid, who had brought her back to life. She +certainly did not know how it had all happened, but it was surely he who +had opened the coffin. What would have happened to her if he had not +done this? She would have awakened to find herself imprisoned in the +black coffin. She would have knocked and shouted; but who would have +heard her six feet below the ground? Ingrid dared not think of it; she +was entirely absorbed with gratitude because she had been saved. She +must have someone she could thank. She must lay her head on someone's +breast and cry from gratitude. + +The most extraordinary thing, almost, that happened that day was, that +the Dalar man did not repulse her. But it was not quite clear to him +that she was alive. He thought she was dead, and he knew it was not +advisable to offend anyone dead. But as soon as he could manage, he +freed himself from her and went down into the grave again. He placed the +lid carefully on the coffin, put in the screws and fastened it as +before. Then he thought the coffin would be quite still, and the violin +would regain its peace and its melodies. + +In the meantime Ingrid sat on the grass and tried to collect her +thoughts. She looked towards the church and discovered the horses and +the carriages on the hillside. Then she began to realize everything. It +was Sunday; they had placed her in the grave in the morning, and now +they were in church. + +A great fear now seized Ingrid. The service would, perhaps, soon be +over, and then all the people would come out and see her. And she had +nothing on but a sheet! She was almost naked. Fancy, if all these people +came and saw her in this state! They would never forget the sight. And +she would be ashamed of it all her life. + +Where should she get some clothes? For a moment she thought of throwing +the Dalar man's fur coat round her, but she did not think that that +would make her any more like other people. + +She turned quickly to the crazy man, who was still working at the +coffin-lid. + +'Oh,' she said, 'will you let me creep into your pack?' + +In a moment she stood by the great leather pack, which contained goods +enough to fill a whole market-stall, and began to open it. + +'You must come and help me.' + +She did not ask in vain. When the Dalar man saw her touching his wares +he came up at once. + +'Are you touching my pack?' he asked threateningly. + +Ingrid did not notice that he spoke angrily; she considered him to be +her best friend all the time. + +'Oh, dear good man,' she said, 'help me to hide, so that people will not +see me. Put your wares somewhere or other, and let me creep into the +pack, and carry me home. Oh, do do it! I live at the Parsonage, and it +is only a little way from here. You know where it is.' + +The man stood and looked at her with stupid eyes. She did not know +whether he had understood a word of what she said. She repeated it, but +he made no sign of obeying her. She began again to take the things out +of the pack. Then he stamped on the ground and tore the pack from her. + +However should Ingrid be able to make him do what she wanted? + +On the grass beside her lay a violin and a bow. She took them up +mechanically--she did not know herself why. She had probably been so +much in the company of people playing the violin that she could not bear +to see an instrument lying on the ground. + +As soon as she touched the violin he let go the pack, and tore the +violin from her. He was evidently quite beside himself when anyone +touched his violin. He looked quite malicious. + +What in the world could she do to get away before people came out of +church? + +She began to promise him all sorts of things, just as one promises +children when one wants them to be good. + +'I will ask father to buy a whole dozen of scythes from you. I will lock +up all the dogs when you come to the Parsonage. I will ask mother to +give you a good meal.' + +But there was no sign of his giving way. She bethought herself of the +violin, and said in her despair: + +'If you will carry me to the Parsonage, I will play for you.' + +At last a smile flashed across his face. That was evidently what he +wanted. + +'I will play for you the whole afternoon; I will play for you as long as +you like.' + +'Will you teach the violin new melodies?' he asked. + +'Of course I will.' + +But Ingrid now became both surprised and unhappy, for he took hold of +the pack and pulled it towards him. He dragged it over the graves, and +the sweet-williams and southernwood that grew on them were crushed under +it as if it were a roller. He dragged it to a heap of branches and +wizened leaves and old wreaths lying near the wall round the churchyard. +There he took all the things out of the pack, and hid them well under +the heap. When it was empty he returned to Ingrid. + +'Now you can get in,' he said. + +Ingrid stepped into the pack, and crouched down on the wooden bottom. +The man fastened all the straps as carefully as when he went about with +his usual wares, bent down so that he nearly went on his knees, put his +arms through the braces, buckled a couple of straps across his chest, +and stood up. When he had gone a few steps he began to laugh. His pack +was so light that he could have danced with it. + + * * * * * + +It was only about a mile from the church to the Parsonage. The Dalar man +could walk it in twenty minutes. Ingrid's only wish was that he would +walk so quickly that she could get home before the people came back from +church. She could not bear the idea of so many people seeing her. She +would like to get home when only her mother and the maid-servants were +there. + +Ingrid had taken with her the little bouquet of flowers from her adopted +mother's myrtle. She was so pleased with it that she kissed it over and +over again. It made her think more kindly of her adopted mother than she +had ever done before. But in any case she would, of course, think kindly +of her now. One who has come straight from the grave must think kindly +and gently of everything living and moving on the face of the earth. + +She could now understand so well that the Pastor's wife was bound to +love her own children more than her adopted daughter. And when they were +so poor at the Parsonage that they could not afford to keep a nursemaid, +she could see now that it was quite natural that she should look after +her little brothers and sisters. And when her brothers and sisters were +not good to her, it was because they had become accustomed to think of +her as their nurse. It was not so easy for them to remember that she had +come to the Parsonage to be their sister. + +And, after all, it all came from their being poor. When father some day +got another living, and became Dean, or even Rector, everything would +surely come right. Then they would love her again, as they did when she +first came to them. The good old times would be sure to come back again. +Ingrid kissed her flowers. It had not been mother's intention, perhaps, +to be hard; it was only worry that had made her so strange and unkind. + +But now it would not matter how unkind they were to her. In the future +nothing could hurt her, for now she would always be glad, simply because +she was alive. And if things should ever be really bad again, she would +only think of mother's myrtle and her little brother's horse. + +It was happiness enough to know that she was being carried along the +road alive. This morning no one had thought that she would ever again go +over these roads and hills. And the fragrant clover and the little birds +singing and the beautiful shady trees, which had all been a source of +joy for the living, had not even existed for her. But she had not much +time for reflection, for in twenty minutes the Dalar man had reached the +Parsonage. + +No one was at home but the Pastor's wife and the maid-servants, just as +Ingrid had wished. The Pastor's wife had been busy the whole morning +cooking for the funeral feast. She soon expected the guests, and +everything was nearly ready. She had just been into the bedroom to put +on her black dress. She glanced down the road to the church, but there +were still no carriages to be seen. So she went once again into the +kitchen to taste the food. + +She was quite satisfied, for everything was as it ought to be, and one +cannot help being glad for that, even if one is in mourning. There was +only one maid in the kitchen, and that was the one the Pastor's wife had +brought with her from her old home, so she felt she could speak to her +in confidence. + +'I must confess, Lisa,' she said, 'I think anyone would be pleased with +having such a funeral.' + +'If she could only look down and see all the fuss you make of her,' Lisa +said, 'she would be pleased.' + +'Ah!' said the Pastor's wife, 'I don't think she would ever be pleased +with me.' + +'She is dead now,' said the girl, 'and I am not the one to say anything +against one who is hardly yet under the ground.' + +'I have had to bear many a hard word from my husband for her sake,' said +the mistress. + +The Pastor's wife felt she wanted to speak with someone about the dead +girl. Her conscience had pricked her a little on her account, and this +was why she had arranged such a grand funeral feast. She thought her +conscience might leave her alone now she had had so much trouble over +the funeral, but it did not do so by any means. Her husband also +reproached himself, and said that the young girl had not been treated +like one of their own children, and that they had promised she should be +when they adopted her; and he said it would have been better if they had +never taken her, when they could not help letting her see that they +loved their own children more. And now the Pastor's wife felt she must +talk to someone about the young girl, to hear whether people thought she +had treated her badly. + +She saw that Lisa began to stir the pan violently, as if she had +difficulty in controlling her anger. She was a clever girl, who +thoroughly understood how to get into her mistress's good books. + +'I must say,' Lisa began, 'that when one has a mother who always looks +after one, and takes care that one is neat and clean, one might at +least try to obey and please her. And when one is allowed to live in a +good Parsonage, and to be educated respectably, one ought at least to +give some return for it, and not always go idling about and dreaming. I +should like to know what would have happened if you had not taken the +poor thing in. I suppose she would have been running about with those +acrobats, and have died in the streets, like any other poor wretch.' + +A man from Dalarne came across the yard; he had his pack on his back, +although it was Sunday. He came very quietly through the open +kitchen-door, and curtsied when he entered, but no one took any notice +of him. Both the mistress and the maid saw him, but as they knew him, +they did not think it necessary to interrupt their conversation. + +The Pastor's wife was anxious to continue it; she felt she was about to +hear what she needed to ease her conscience. + +'It is perhaps as well she is gone,' she said. + +'Yes, ma'am,' the servant said eagerly; 'and I am sure the Pastor thinks +just the same. In any case he soon will. And the mistress will see that +now there will be more peace in the house, and I am sure the master +needs it.' + +'Oh!' said the Pastor's wife, 'I was obliged to be careful. There were +always so many clothes to be got for her, that it was quite dreadful. He +was so afraid that she should not get as much as the others that she +sometimes even had more. And it cost so much, now that she was grown +up.' + +'I suppose, ma'am, Greta will get her muslin dress?' + +'Yes; either Greta will have it, or I shall use it myself.' + +'She does not leave much behind her, poor thing!' + +'No one expects her to leave anything,' said her adopted mother. 'I +should be quite content if I could remember ever having had a kind word +from her.' + +This is only the kind of thing one says when one has a bad conscience, +and wants to excuse one's self. Her adopted mother did not really mean +what she said. + +The Dalar man behaved exactly as he always did when he came to sell his +wares. He stood for a little while looking round the kitchen; then he +slowly pushed the pack on to a table, and unfastened the braces and the +straps; then he looked round to see if there were any cats or dogs +about. He then straightened his back, and began to unfasten the two +leather flaps, which were fastened with numerous buckles and knots. + +'He need not trouble about opening his pack to-day,' Lisa said; 'it is +Sunday, and he knows quite well we don't buy anything on Sundays.' + +She, however, took no notice of the crazy fellow, who continued to +unfasten his straps. She turned round to her mistress. This was a good +opportunity for insinuating herself. + +'I don't even know whether she was good to the children. I have often +heard them cry in the nursery.' + +'I suppose it was the same with them as it was with their mother,' said +the Pastor's wife; 'but now, of course, they cry because she is dead.' + +'They don't understand what is best for them,' said the servant; 'but +the mistress can be certain that before a month is gone there will be no +one to cry over her.' + +At the same moment they both turned round from the kitchen range, and +looked towards the table, where the Dalar man stood opening his big +pack. They had heard a strange noise, something like a sigh or a sob. +The man was just opening the inside lid, and out of the pack rose the +newly-buried girl, exactly the same as when they laid her in the coffin. + +And yet she did not look quite the same. She looked almost more dead now +than when she was laid in her coffin. Then she had nearly the same +colour as when she was alive; now her face was ashy-gray, there was a +bluish-black shadow round her mouth, and her eyes lay deep in her head. +She said nothing, but her face expressed the greatest despair, and she +held out beseechingly, and as if to avert their anger, the bouquet of +myrtle which she had received from her adopted mother. + +This sight was more than flesh and blood could stand. Her mother fell +fainting to the ground; the maid stood still for a moment, gazing at the +mother and daughter, covered her eyes with her hands, and rushed into +her own room and locked the door. + +'It is not me she has come for; this does not concern me.' + +But Ingrid turned round to the Dalar man. + +'Put me in your pack again, and take me away. Do you hear? Take me away. +Take me back to where you found me.' + +The Dalar man happened to look through the window. A long row of carts +and carriages was coming up the avenue and into the yard. Ah, indeed! +then he was not going to stay. He did not like that at all. + +Ingrid crouched down at the bottom of the pack. She said not another +word, but only sobbed. The flaps and the lids were fastened, and she was +again lifted on to his back and carried away. Those who were coming to +the funeral feast laughed at the Goat, who hastened away, curtsying and +curtsying to every horse he met. + + +V + +Anna Stina was an old woman who lived in the depths of the forest. She +gave a helping hand at the Parsonage now and then, and always managed +opportunely to come down the hillside when they were baking or washing. +She was a nice, clever old woman, and she and Ingrid were good friends. +As soon as the young girl was able to collect her thoughts, she made up +her mind to take refuge with her. + +'Listen,' she said to the Dalar man. 'When you get onto the highroad, +turn into the forest; then go straight on until you come to a gate; +there you must turn to the left; then you must go straight on until you +come to the large gravel-pit. From there you can see a house: take me +there, and I will play to you.' + +The short and harsh manner in which she gave her orders jarred upon her +ears, but she was obliged to speak in this way in order to be obeyed; it +was the only chance she had. What right had she to order another person +about--she who had not even the right to be alive? + +After all this she would never again be able to feel as if she had any +right to live. This was the most dreadful part of all that had happened +to her: that she could have lived in the Parsonage for six years, and +not even been able to make herself so much loved that they wished to +keep her alive. And those whom no one loves have no right to live. She +could not exactly say how she knew it was so, but it was as clear as +daylight. She knew it from the feeling that the same moment she heard +that they did not care about her an iron hand seemed to have crushed her +heart as if to make it stop. Yes, it was life itself that had been +closed for her. And the same moment she had come back from death, and +felt the delight of being alive burn brightly and strongly within her, +just at that moment the one thing that gave her the right of existing +had been torn from her. + +This was worse than sentence of death. It was much more cruel than an +ordinary sentence of death. She knew what it was like. It was like +felling a tree--not in the usual manner, when the trunk is cut through, +but by cutting its roots and leaving it standing in the ground to die by +itself. There the tree stands, and cannot understand why it no longer +gets nourishment and support. It struggles and strives to live, but the +leaves get smaller and smaller, it sends forth no fresh shoots, the bark +falls off, and it must die, because it is severed from the spring of +life. Thus it is it must die. + +At last the Dalar man put down his pack on the stone step outside a +little house in the midst of the wild forest. The door was locked, but +as soon as Ingrid had got out of the pack she took the key from under +the doorstep, opened the door, and walked in. + +Ingrid knew the house thoroughly and all it contained. It was not the +first time she had come there for comfort; it was not the first time she +had come and told old Anna Stina that she could not bear living at home +any longer--that her adopted mother was so hard to her that she would +not go back to the Parsonage. But every time she came the old woman had +talked her over and quieted her. She had made her some terrible coffee +from roasted peas and chicory, without a single coffee-bean in it, but +which had all the same given her new courage, and in the end she had +made her laugh at everything, and encouraged her so much, that she had +simply danced down the hillside on her way home. + +Even if Anna Stina had been at home, and had made some of her terrible +coffee, it would probably not have helped Ingrid this time. But the old +woman was down at the Parsonage to the funeral feast, for the Pastor's +wife had not forgotten to invite any of those of whom Ingrid had been +fond. That, too, was probably the result of an uneasy conscience. + +But in Anna's room everything was as usual. And when Ingrid saw the +sofa with the wooden seat, and the clean, scoured table, and the cat, +and the coffee-kettle, although she did not feel comforted or cheered, +she felt that here was a place where she could give vent to her sorrow. +It was a relief that here she need not think of anything but crying and +moaning. + +She went straight to the settle, threw herself on the wooden seat, and +lay there crying, she did not know for how long. + +The Dalar man sat outside on the stone step; he did not want to go into +the house on account of the cat. He expected that Ingrid would come out +and play to him. He had taken the violin out long ago. As it was such a +long time before she came, he began to play himself. He played softly +and gently, as was his wont. It was barely possible for the young girl +to hear him playing. + +Ingrid had one fit of shivering after the other. This was how she had +been before she fell ill. She would no doubt be ill again. It was also +best that the fever should come and put an end to her in earnest. + +When she heard the violin, she rose and looked round with bewildered +glance. Who was that playing? Was that her student? Had he come at last? +It soon struck her, however, that it was the Dalar man, and she lay down +again with a sigh. She could not follow what he was playing. But as soon +as she closed her eyes the violin assumed the student's voice. She also +heard what he said; he spoke with her adopted mother and defended her. +He spoke just as nicely as he had done to Mr. and Mrs. Blomgren. Ingrid +needed love so much, he said. That was what she had missed. That was +why she had not always attended to her work, but allowed dreams to fill +her mind. But no one knew how she could work and slave for those who +loved her. For their sake she could bear sorrow and sickness, and +contempt and poverty; for them she would be as strong as a giant, and as +patient as a slave. + +Ingrid heard him distinctly and she became quiet. Yes, it was true. If +only her adopted mother had loved her, she would have seen what Ingrid +was worth. But as she did not love her, Ingrid was paralyzed in her +efforts. Yes, so it had been. + +Now the fever had left her, she only lay and listened to what the +student said. She slept a little now and then; time after time she +thought she was lying in her grave, and then it was always the student +who came and took her out of the coffin. She lay and disputed with him. + +'When I am dreaming it is you who come,' she said. + +'It is always I who come to you, Ingrid,' he said. 'I thought you knew +that. I take you out of the grave; I carry you on my shoulders; I play +you to sleep. It is always I.' + +What disturbed and awoke her was the thought that she had to get up and +play for the Dalar man. Several times she rose up to do it, but could +not. As soon as she fell back upon the settle she began to dream. She +sat crouching in the pack and the student carried her through the +forest. It was always he. + +'But it was not you,' she said to him. + +'Of course it was I,' he said, smiling at her contradicting him. 'You +have been thinking about me every day for all these years; so you can +understand I could not help saving you when you were in such great +danger.' + +Of course she saw the force of his argument; and then she began to +realize that he was right, and that it was he. But this was such +infinite bliss that she again awoke. Love seemed to fill her whole +being. It could not have been more real had she seen and spoken with her +beloved. + +'Why does he never come in real life?' she said, half aloud. 'Why does +he only come in my dreams?' + +She did not dare to move, for then love would fly away. It was as if a +timid bird had settled on her shoulder, and she was afraid of +frightening it away. If she moved, the bird would fly away, and sorrow +would overcome her. + +When at last she really awoke, it was twilight. She must have slept the +whole afternoon and evening. At that time of the year it was not dark +until after ten o'clock. The violin had ceased playing, and the Dalar +man had probably gone away. + +Anna Stina had not yet come back. She would probably be away the whole +night. It did not matter to Ingrid; all she wanted was to lie down again +and sleep. She was afraid of all the sorrow and despair that would +overwhelm her as soon as she awoke. But then she got something new to +think about. Who could have closed the door? who had spread Anna Stina's +great shawl over her? and who had placed a piece of dry bread beside her +on the seat? Had he, the Goat, done all this for her? For a moment she +thought she saw dream and reality standing side by side, trying which +could best console her. And the dream stood joyous and smiling, +showering over her all the bliss of love to comfort her. But life, poor, +hard, and bitter though it was, also brought its kindly little mite to +show that it did not mean to be so hard upon her as perhaps she thought. + + +VI + +Ingrid and Anna Stina were walking through the dark forest. They had +been walking for four days, and had slept three nights in the S[:a]ter +huts. Ingrid was weak and weary; her face was transparently pale; her +eyes were sunken, and shone feverishly. Old Anna Stina now and then +secretly cast an anxious look at her, and prayed to God that He would +sustain her so that she might not die by the wayside. Now and then the +old woman could not help looking behind her with uneasiness. She had an +uncomfortable feeling that the old man with his scythe came stealthily +after them through the forest to reclaim the young girl who, both by the +word of God and the casting of earth upon her, had been consecrated to +him. + +Old Anna Stina was little and broad, with a large, square face, which +was so intelligent that it was almost good-looking. She was not +superstitious--she lived quite alone in the midst of the forest without +being afraid either of witches or evil spirits--but as she walked there +by the side of Ingrid she felt as distinctly as if someone had told her +that she was walking beside a being who did not belong to this world. +She had had that sensation ever since she had found Ingrid lying in her +house that Monday morning. + +Anna Stina had not returned home on the Sunday evening, for down at the +Parsonage the Pastor's wife had been taken very ill, and Anna Stina, who +was accustomed to nurse sick people, had stayed to sit up with her. The +whole night she had heard the Pastor's wife raving about Ingrid's having +appeared to her; but that the old woman had not believed. And when she +returned home the next day and found Ingrid, the old woman would at once +have gone down to the Parsonage again to tell them that it was not a +ghost they had seen; but when she had suggested this to Ingrid, it had +affected her so much that she dared not do it. It was as if the little +life which burnt in her would be extinguished, just as the flame of a +candle is put out by too strong a draught. She could have died as easily +as a little bird in its cage. Death was prowling around her. There was +nothing to be done but to nurse her very tenderly and deal very gently +with her if her life was to be preserved. + +The old woman hardly knew what to think of Ingrid. Perhaps she was a +ghost; there seemed to be so little life in her. She quite gave up +trying to talk her to reason. There was nothing else for it but giving +in to her wishes that no one should hear anything about her being alive. +And then the old woman tried to arrange everything as wisely as +possible. She had a sister who was housekeeper on a large estate in +Dalarne, and she made up her mind to take Ingrid to her, and persuade +her sister, Stafva, to give the girl a situation at the Manor House. +Ingrid would have to be content with being simply a servant. There was +nothing else for it. + +They were now on their way to the Manor House. Anna Stina knew the +country so well that they were not obliged to go by the highroad, but +could follow the lonely forest paths. But they had also undergone much +hardship. Their shoes were worn and in pieces, their skirts soiled and +frayed at the bottom, and a branch had torn a long rent in Ingrid's +sleeve. + +On the evening of the fourth day they came to a hill from which they +could look down into a deep valley. In the valley was a lake, and near +the edge of the lake was a high, rocky island, upon which stood a large +white building. When Anna Stina saw the house, she said it was called +Munkhyttan, and that it was there her sister lived. + +They made themselves as tidy as they could on the hillside. They +arranged the handkerchiefs which they wore on their heads, dried their +shoes with moss, and washed themselves in a forest stream, and Anna +Stina tried to make a fold in Ingrid's sleeve so that the rent could not +be seen. + +The old woman sighed when she looked at Ingrid, and quite lost courage. +It was not only that she looked so strange in the clothes she had +borrowed from Anna Stina, and which did not at all fit her, but her +sister Stafva would never take her into her service, she looked so +wretched and pitiful. It was like engaging a breath of wind. The girl +could be of no more use than a sick butterfly. + +As soon as they were ready, they went down the hill to the lake. It was +only a short distance. Then they came to the land belonging to the Manor +House. + +Was that a country house? + +There were large neglected fields, upon which the forest encroached more +and more. There was a bridge leading on to the island, so shaky that +they hardly thought it would keep together until they were safely over. +There was an avenue leading from the bridge to the main building, +covered with grass, like a meadow, and a tree which had been blown down +had been left lying across the road. + +The island was pretty enough, so pretty that a castle might very well +have been built there. But nothing but weeds grew in the garden, and in +the large park the trees were choking each other, and black snakes +glided over the green, wet walks. + +Anna Stina felt uneasy when she saw how neglected everything was, and +went along mumbling to herself: 'What does all this mean? Is Stafva +dead? How can she stand everything looking like this? Things were very +different thirty years ago, when I was last here. What in the world can +be the matter with Stafva?' She could not imagine that there could be +such neglect in any place where Stafva lived. + +Ingrid walked behind her, slowly and reluctantly. The moment she put her +foot on the bridge she felt that there were not two walking there, but +three. Someone had come to meet her there, and had turned back to +accompany her. Ingrid heard no footsteps, but he who accompanied them +appeared indistinctly by her side. She could see there was someone. + +She became terribly afraid. She was just going to beg Anna Stina to turn +back and tell her that everything seemed so strange here that she dare +not go any further. But before she had time to say anything, the +stranger came quite close to her, and she recognised him. Before, she +only saw him indistinctly; now she saw him so clearly that she could see +it was the student. + +It no longer seemed weird and ghost-like that he walked there. It was +only strangely delightful that he came to receive her. It was as if it +were he who had brought her there, and would, by coming to welcome her, +show that it was. + +He walked with her over the bridge, through the avenue, quite up to the +main building. + +She could not help turning her head every moment to the left. It was +there she saw his face, quite close to her cheek. It was really not a +face that she saw, only an unspeakably beautiful smile that drew +tenderly near her. But if she turned her head quite round to see it +properly, it was no longer there. No, there was nothing one could see +distinctly. But as soon as she looked straight before her, it was there +again, quite close to her. + +Her invisible companion did not speak to her, he only smiled. But that +was enough for her. It was more than enough to show her that there was +one in the world who kept near her with tender love. + +She felt his presence as something so real, that she firmly believed he +protected her and watched over her. And before this happy consciousness +vanished all the despair which her adopted mother's hard words had +called forth. + +Ingrid felt herself again given back to life. She had the right to live, +as there was one who loved her. + +And this was why she entered the kitchen at Munkhyttan with a faint +blush on her cheeks, and with radiant eyes, fragile, weak, and +transparent, but sweet as a newly-opened rose. + +She still went about as if in a dream, and did not know much about where +she was; but what surprised her so much that it nearly awakened her was +to see a new Anna Stina standing by the fireplace. She stood there, +little and broad, with a large, square face, exactly like the other. But +why was she so fine, with a white cap with strings tied in a large bow +under her chin, and with a black bombazine dress? Ingrid's head was so +confused, that it was some time before it occurred to her that this must +be Miss Stafva. + +She felt that Anna Stina looked uneasily at her, and she tried to pull +herself together and say 'Good-day.' But the only thing her mind could +grasp was the thought that he had come to her. + +Inside the kitchen there was a small room, with blue-checked covering on +the furniture. They were taken into that room, and Miss Stafva gave them +coffee and something to eat. + +Anna Stina at once began to talk about their errand. She spoke for a +long time; said that she knew her sister stood so high in her +ladyship's favour that she left it to her to engage the servants. Miss +Stafva said nothing, but she gave a look at Ingrid as much as to say +that it would hardly have been left with her if she had chosen servants +like her. + +Anna Stina praised Ingrid, and said she was a good girl. She had +hitherto served in a parsonage, but now that she was grown up she wanted +really to learn something, and that was why Anna Stina had brought her +to one who could teach her more than any other person she knew. + +Miss Stafva did not reply to this remark either. But her glance plainly +showed that she was surprised that anyone who had had a situation in a +parsonage had no clothes of her own, but was obliged to borrow old Anna +Stina's. + +Then old Anna Stina began to tell how she lived quite alone in the +forest, deserted by all her relatives. And this young girl had come +running up the hill many an evening and many an early morning to see +her. She had therefore thought and hoped that she could now help her to +get a good situation. + +Miss Stafva said it was a pity that they had gone such a long way to +find a place. If she were a clever girl, she could surely get a +situation in some good family in their own neighbourhood. + +Anna Stina could now clearly see that Ingrid's prospects were not good, +and therefore she began in a more solemn vein: + +'Here you have lived, Stafva, and had a good, comfortable home all your +life, and I have had to fight my way in great poverty. But I have never +asked you for anything before to-day. And now you will send me away +like a beggar, to whom one gives a meal and nothing more.' + +Miss Stafva smiled a little; then she said: + +'Sister Anna Stina, you are not telling me the truth. I, too, come from +Raglanda, and I should like to know at what peasant's house in that +parish grow such eyes and such a face.' + +And she pointed at Ingrid, and continued: + +'I can quite understand, Anna Stina, that you would like to help one who +looks like that. But I do not understand how you can think that your +sister Stafva has not more sense than to believe the stories you choose +to tell her.' + +Anna Stina was so frightened that she could not say a word, but Ingrid +made up her mind to confide in Miss Stafva, and began at once to tell +her whole story in her soft, beautiful voice. + +And Ingrid had hardly told of how she had been lying in the grave, and +that a Dalar man had come and saved her, before old Miss Stafva grew red +and quickly bent down to hide it. It was only a second, but there must +have been some cause for it, for from that moment she looked so kind. + +She soon began to ask full particulars about it; more especially she +wanted to know about the crazy man, whether Ingrid had not been afraid +of him. Oh no, he did no harm. He was not mad, Ingrid said; he could +both buy and sell. He was only frightened of some things. + +Ingrid thought the hardest of all was to tell what she had heard her +adopted mother say. But she told everything, although there were tears +in her voice. + +Then Miss Stafva went up to her, drew back the handkerchief from her +head, and looked into her eyes. Then she patted her lightly on the +cheek. + +'Never mind that, little miss,' she said. 'There is no need for me to +know about that. Now sister and Miss Ingrid must excuse me,' she said +soon after, 'but I must take up her ladyship's coffee. I shall soon be +down again, and you can tell me more.' + +When she returned, she said she had told her ladyship about the young +girl who had lain in the grave, and now her mistress wanted to see her. + +They were taken upstairs, and shown into her ladyship's boudoir. + +Anna Stina remained standing at the door of the fine room. But Ingrid +was not shy; she went straight up to the old lady and put out her hand. +She had often been shy with others who looked much less aristocratic; +but here, in this house, she did not feel embarrassed. She only felt so +wonderfully happy that she had come there. + +'So it is you, my child, who have been buried,' said her ladyship, +nodding friendlily to her. 'Do you mind telling me your story, my child? +I sit here quite alone, and never hear anything, you know.' + +Then Ingrid began again to tell her story. But she had not got very far +before she was interrupted. Her ladyship did exactly the same as Miss +Stafva had done. She rose, pushed the handkerchief back from Ingrid's +forehead and looked into her eyes. + +'Yes,' her ladyship said to herself, 'that I can understand. I can +understand that he must obey those eyes.' + +For the first time in her life Ingrid was praised for her courage. Her +ladyship thought she had been very brave to place herself in the hands +of a crazy fellow. + +She _was_ afraid, she said, but she was still more afraid of people +seeing her in that state. And he did no harm; he was almost quite right, +and then he was so good. + +Her ladyship wanted to know his name, but Ingrid did not know it. She +had never heard of any other name but the Goat. Her ladyship asked +several times how he managed when he came to do business. Had she not +laughed at him, and did she not think that he looked terrible--the Goat? +It sounded so strange when her ladyship said 'the Goat.' There was so +much bitterness in her voice when she said it, and yet she said it over +and over again. + +No; Ingrid did not think so, and she never laughed at unfortunate +people. The old lady looked more gentle than her words sounded. + +'It appears you know how to manage mad people, my child,' she said. +'That is a great gift. Most people are afraid of such poor creatures.' +She listened to all Ingrid had to say, and sat meditating. 'As you have +not any home, my child,' she said, 'will you not stay here with me? You +see, I am an old woman living here by myself, and you can keep me +company, and I shall take care that you have everything you want. What +do you say to it, my child? There will come a time, I suppose,' +continued her ladyship, 'when we shall have to inform your parents that +you are still living; but for the present everything shall remain as it +is, so that you can have time to rest both body and mind. And you shall +call me "Aunt"; but what shall I call you?' + +'Ingrid--Ingrid Berg.' + +'Ingrid,' said her ladyship thoughtfully. 'I would rather have called +you something else. As soon as you entered the room with those star-like +eyes, I thought you ought to be called Mignon.' + +When it dawned upon the young girl that here she would really find a +home, she felt more sure than ever that she had been brought here in +some supernatural manner, and she whispered her thanks to her invisible +protector before she thanked her ladyship, Miss Stafva, and Anna Stina. + + * * * * * + +Ingrid slept in a four-poster, on luxurious featherbeds three feet high, +and had hem-stitched sheets, and silken quilts embroidered with Swedish +crowns and French lilies. The bed was so broad that she could lie as she +liked either way, and so high that she must mount two steps to get into +it. At the top sat a Cupid holding the brightly-coloured hangings, and +on the posts sat other Cupids, which held them up in festoons. + +In the same room where the bed stood was an old curved chest of drawers +inlaid with olive-wood, and from it Ingrid might take as much +sweetly-scented linen as she liked. There was also a wardrobe containing +many gay and pretty silk and muslin gowns that only hung there and +waited until it pleased her to put them on. + +When she awoke in the morning there stood by her bedside a tray with a +silver coffee-set and old Indian china. And every morning she set her +small white teeth in fine white bread and delicious almond-cakes; every +day she was dressed in a fine muslin gown with a lace fichu. Her hair +was dressed high at the back, but round her forehead there was a row of +little light curls. + +On the wall between the windows hung a mirror, with a narrow glass in a +broad frame, where she could see herself, and nod to her picture, and +ask: + +'Is it you? Is it really you? How have you come here?' + +In the daytime, when Ingrid had left the chamber with the four-poster, +she sat in the drawing-room and embroidered or painted on silk, and when +she was tired of that, she played a little on the guitar and sang, or +talked with the old lady, who taught her French, and amused herself by +training her to be a fine lady. + +But she had come to an enchanted castle--she could not get away from +that idea. She had had that feeling the first moment, and it was always +coming back again. No one arrived at the house, no one left it. In this +big house only two or three rooms were kept in order; in the others no +one ever went. No one walked in the garden, no one looked after it. +There was only one man-servant, and an old man who cut the firewood. And +Miss Stafva had only two servants, who helped her in the kitchen and in +the dairy. + +But there was always dainty food on the table, and her ladyship and +Ingrid were always waited upon and dressed like fine ladies of rank. + +If nothing thrived on the old estate, there was, at any rate, fertile +soil for dreams, and even if they did not nurse and cultivate flowers +there, Ingrid was not the one to neglect her dream-roses. They grew up +around her whenever she was alone. It seemed to her then as if red +dream-roses formed a canopy over her. + +Round the island where the trees bent low over the water, and sent long +branches in between the reeds, and where shrubs and lofty trees grew +luxuriantly, was a pathway where Ingrid often walked. It looked so +strange to see so many letters carved on the trees, to see the old seats +and summer-houses; to see the old tumble-down pavilions, which were so +worm-eaten that she dared not go into them; to think that real people +had walked here, that here they had lived, and longed, and loved, and +that this had not always been an enchanted castle. + +Down here she felt even more the witchery of the place. Here the face +with the smile came to her. Here she could thank him, the student, +because he had brought her to a home where she was so happy, where they +loved her, and made her forget how hardly others had treated her. If it +had not been he who had arranged all this for her, she could not +possibly have been allowed to remain here; it was quite impossible. + +She knew that it must be he. She had never before had such wild fancies. +She had always been thinking of him, but she had never felt that he was +so near her that he took care of her. The only thing she longed for was +that he himself should come, for of course he would come some day. It +was impossible that he should not come. In these avenues he had left +behind part of his soul. + + * * * * * + +Summer went, and autumn; Christmas was drawing near. + +'Miss Ingrid,' said the old housekeeper one day, in a rather mysterious +manner, 'I think I ought to tell you that the young master who owns +Munkhyttan is coming home for Christmas. In any case, he generally +comes,' she added, with a sigh. + +'And her ladyship, who has never even mentioned that she has a son,' +said Ingrid. + +But she was not really surprised. She might just as well have answered +that she had known it all along. + +'No one has spoken to you about him, Miss Ingrid,' said the housekeeper, +'for her ladyship has forbidden us to speak about him.' + +And then Miss Stafva would not say any more. + +Neither did Ingrid want to ask any more. Now she was afraid of hearing +something definite. She had raised her expectations so high that she was +herself afraid they would fail. The truth might be well worth hearing, +but it might also be bitter, and destroy all her beautiful dreams. But +from that day he was with her night and day. She had hardly time to +speak to others. She must always be with him. + +One day she saw that they had cleared the snow away from the avenue. She +grew almost frightened. Was he coming now? + +The next day her ladyship sat from early morning in the window looking +down the avenue. Ingrid had gone further into the room. She was so +restless that she could not remain at the window. + +'Do you know whom I am expecting to-day, Ingrid?' + +The young girl nodded; she dared not depend upon her voice to answer. + +'Has Miss Stafva told you that my son is peculiar?' + +Ingrid shook her head. + +'He is very peculiar--he--I cannot speak about it. I cannot--you must +see for yourself.' + +It sounded heartrending. Ingrid grew very uneasy. What was there with +this house that made everything so strange? Was it something terrible +that she did not know about? Was her ladyship not on good terms with her +son? What was it, what was it? + +The one moment in an ecstasy of joy, the next in a fever of uncertainty, +she was obliged to call forth the long row of visions in order again to +feel that it must be he who came. She could not at all say why she so +firmly believed that he must be the son just of this house. He might, +for the matter of that, be quite another person. Oh, how hard it was +that she had never heard his name! + +It was a long day. They sat waiting in silence until evening came. + +The man came driving a cartload of Christmas logs, and the horse +remained in the yard whilst the wood was unloaded. + +'Ingrid,' said her ladyship in a commanding and hasty tone, 'run down +to Anders and tell him that he must be quick and get the horse into the +stable. Quick--quick!' + +Ingrid ran down the stairs and on to the veranda; but when she came out +she forgot to call to the man. Just behind the cart she saw a tall man +in a sheepskin coat, and with a large pack on his back. It was not +necessary for her to see him standing curtsying and curtsying to +recognise him. But, but----She put her hand to her head and drew a deep +breath. How would all these things ever become clear to her? Was it for +that fellow's sake her ladyship had sent her down? And the man, why did +he pull the horse away in such great haste? And why did he take off his +cap and salute? What had that crazy man to do with the people of this +house? + +All at once the truth flashed upon Ingrid so crushingly and +overwhelmingly that she could have screamed. It was not her beloved who +had watched over her; it was this crazy man. She had been allowed to +remain here because she had spoken kindly of him, because his mother +wanted to carry on the good work which he had commenced. + +The Goat--that was the young master. + +But to her no one came. No one had brought her here; no one had expected +her. It was all dreams, fancies, illusions! Oh, how hard it was! If she +had only never expected him! + +But at night, when Ingrid lay in the big bed with the brightly-coloured +hangings, she dreamt over and over again that she saw the student come +home. 'It was not you who came,' she said. 'Yes, of course it was I,' +he replied. And in her dreams she believed him. + + * * * * * + +One day, the week after Christmas, Ingrid sat at the window in the +boudoir embroidering. Her ladyship sat on the sofa knitting, as she +always did now. There was silence in the room. + +Young Hede had been at home for a week. During all that time Ingrid had +never seen him. In his home, too, he lived like a peasant, slept in the +men-servants' quarters, and had his meals in the kitchen. He never went +to see his mother. + +Ingrid knew that both her ladyship and Miss Stafva expected that she +should do something for Hede, that at the least she would try and +persuade him to remain at home. And it grieved her that it was +impossible for her to do what they wished. She was in despair about +herself and about the utter weakness that had come over her since her +expectations had been so shattered. + +To-day Miss Stafva had just come in to say that Hede was getting his +pack ready to start. He was not even staying as long as he generally did +at Christmas, she said with a reproachful look at Ingrid. + +Ingrid understood all they had expected from her, but she could do +nothing. She sewed and sewed without saying anything. + +Miss Stafva went away, and there was again silence in the room. Ingrid +quite forgot that she was not alone; a feeling of drowsiness suddenly +came over her, whilst all her sad thoughts wove themselves into a +strange fancy. + +She thought she was walking up and down the whole of the large house. +She went through a number of rooms and salons; she saw them before her +with gray covers over the furniture. The paintings and the chandeliers +were covered with gauze, and on the floors was a layer of thick dust, +which whirled about when she went through the rooms. But at last she +came to a room where she had never been before; it was quite a small +chamber, where both walls and ceiling were black. But when she came to +look more closely at them, she saw that the chamber was neither painted +black, nor covered with black material, but it was so dark on account of +the walls and the ceiling being completely covered with bats. The whole +room was nothing but a huge nest for bats. In one of the windows a pane +was broken, so one could understand how the bats had got in in such +incredible numbers that they covered the whole room. They hung there in +their undisturbed winter sleep; not one moved when she entered. But she +was seized by such terror at this sight that she began to shiver and +shake all over. It was dreadful to see the quantity of bats she so +distinctly saw hanging there. They all had black wings wrapped around +them like cloaks; they all hung from the walls by a single long claw in +undisturbable sleep. She saw it all so distinctly that she wondered if +Miss Stafva knew that the bats had taken possession of a whole room. In +her thoughts she then went to Miss Stafva and asked her whether she had +been into that room and seen all the bats. + +'Of course I have seen them,' said Miss Stafva. 'It is their own room. I +suppose you know, Miss Ingrid, that there is not a single old country +house in all Sweden where they have not to give up a room to the bats?' + +'I have never heard that before,' Ingrid said. + +'When you have lived as long in the world as I have, Miss Ingrid, you +will find out that I am speaking the truth,' said Miss Stafva. + +'I cannot understand that people will put up with such a thing,' Ingrid +said. + +'We are obliged to,' said Miss Stafva. 'Those bats are Mistress Sorrow's +birds, and she has commanded us to receive them.' + +Ingrid saw that Miss Stafva did not wish to say anything more about that +matter, and she began to sew again; but she could not help speculating +over who that Mistress Sorrow could be who had so much power here that +she could compel Miss Stafva to give up a whole room to the bats. + +Just as she was thinking about all this, she saw a black sledge, drawn +by black horses, pull up outside the veranda. She saw Miss Stafva come +out and make a low curtsy. An old lady in a long black velvet cloak, +with many small capes on the shoulders, alighted from the sledge. She +was bent, and had difficulty in walking. She could hardly lift her feet +sufficiently to walk up the steps. + +'Ingrid,' said her ladyship, looking up from her knitting, 'I think I +heard Mistress Sorrow arrive. It must have been her jingle I heard. Have +you noticed that she never has sledge-bells on her horses, but only +quite a small jingle? But one can hear it--one can hear it! Go down +into the hall, Ingrid, and bid Mistress Sorrow welcome.' + +When Ingrid came down into the front hall, Mistress Sorrow stood talking +with Miss Stafva on the veranda. They did not notice her. + +Ingrid saw with surprise that the round-backed old lady had something +hidden under all her capes which looked like crape; it was put well up +and carefully hidden. Ingrid had to look very closely before she +discovered that they were two large bat's wings which she tried to hide. +The young girl grew still more curious and tried to see her face, but +she stood and looked into the yard, so it was impossible. So much, +however, Ingrid did see when she put out her hand to the +housekeeper--that one of her fingers was much longer than the others, +and at the end of it was a large, crooked claw. + +'I suppose everything is as usual here?' she said. + +'Yes, honoured Mistress Sorrow,' said Miss Stafva. + +'You have not planted any flowers, nor pruned any trees? You have not +mended the bridge, nor weeded the avenue?' + +'No, honoured mistress.' + +'This is quite as it should be,' said the honoured mistress. 'I suppose +you have not had the audacity to search for the vein of ore, or to cut +down the forest which is encroaching on the fields?' + +'No, honoured mistress.' + +'Or to clean the wells?' + +'No, nor to clean the wells.' + +'This is a nice place,' said Mistress Sorrow; 'I always like being here. +In a few years things will be in such a state that my birds can live all +over the house. You are really very good to my birds, Miss Stafva.' + +At this praise the housekeeper made a deep curtsy. + +'How are things otherwise at the house?' said Mistress Sorrow. 'What +sort of a Christmas have you had?' + +'We have kept Christmas as we always do,' said Miss Stafva. 'Her +ladyship sits knitting in her room day after day, thinks of nothing but +her son, and does not even know that it is a festival. Christmas Eve we +allowed to pass like any other day--no presents and no candles.' + +'No Christmas tree, no Christmas fare?' + +'Nor any going to church; not so much as a candle in the windows on +Christmas morning.' + +'Why should her ladyship honour God's Son when God will not heal her +son?' said Mistress Sorrow. + +'No, why should she?' + +'He is at home at present, I suppose? Perhaps he is better now?' + +'No, he is no better. He is as much afraid of things as ever.' + +'Does he still behave like a peasant? Does he never go into the rooms?' + +'We cannot get him to go into the rooms; he is afraid of her ladyship, +as the honoured mistress knows.' + +'He has his meals in the kitchen, and sleeps in the men-servants' +room?' + +'Yes, he does.' + +'And you have no idea how to cure him?' + +'We know nothing, we understand nothing.' + +Mistress Sorrow was silent for a moment; when she spoke again there was +a hard, sharp ring in her voice: + +'This is all right as far as it goes, Miss Stafva; but I am not quite +satisfied with you, all the same.' + +The same moment she turned round and looked sharply at Ingrid. + +Ingrid shuddered. Mistress Sorrow had a little, wrinkled face, the under +part of which was so doubled up that one could hardly see the lower jaw. +She had teeth like a saw, and thick hair on the upper lip. Her eyebrows +were one single tuft of hair, and her skin was quite brown. + +Ingrid thought Miss Stafva could not see what she saw: Mistress Sorrow +was not a human being; she was only an animal. + +Mistress Sorrow opened her mouth and showed her glittering teeth when +she looked at Ingrid. + +'When this girl came here,' she said to Miss Stafva, 'you thought she +had been sent by God. You thought you could see from her eyes that she +had been sent by Our Lord to save him. She knew how to manage mad +people. Well, how has it worked?' + +'It has not worked at all. She has not done anything.' + +'No, I have seen to that,' said Mistress Sorrow. 'It was my doing that +you did not tell her why she was allowed to stay here. Had she known +that, she would not have indulged in such rosy dreams about seeing her +beloved. If she had not had such expectations, she would not have had +such a bitter disappointment. Had disappointment not paralyzed her, she +could perhaps have done something for this mad fellow. But now she has +not even been to see him. She hates him because he is not the one she +expected him to be. That is my doing, Miss Stafva, my doing.' + +'Yes; the honoured mistress knows her business,' said Miss Stafva. + +Mistress Sorrow took her lace handkerchief and dried her red-rimmed +eyes. It looked as if it were meant for an expression of joy. + +'You need not make yourself out to be any better than you are, Miss +Stafva,' she said. 'I know you do not like my having taken that room for +my birds. You do not like the thought of my having the whole house soon. +I know that. You and your mistress had intended to cheat me. But it is +all over now.' + +'Yes,' said Miss Stafva, 'the honoured mistress can be quite easy. It is +all over. The young master is leaving to-day. He has packed up his pack, +and then we always know he is about to leave. Everything her ladyship +and I have been dreaming about the whole autumn is over. Nothing has +been done. We thought she might at least have persuaded him to remain at +home, but in spite of all we have done for her, she has not done +anything for us.' + +'No, she has only been a poor help, I know that,' said Mistress Sorrow. +'But, all the same, she must be sent away now. That was really what I +wanted to see her ladyship about.' + +Mistress Sorrow began to drag herself up the steps on her tottering +legs. At every step she raised her wings a little, as if they should +help her. She would, no doubt, much rather have flown. + +Ingrid went behind her. She felt strangely attracted and fascinated. If +Mistress Sorrow had been the most beautiful woman in the world, she +could not have felt a greater inclination to follow her. + +When she went into the boudoir she saw Mistress Sorrow sitting on the +sofa by the side of her ladyship, whispering confidentially with her, as +if they were old friends. + +'You must be able to see that you cannot keep her with you,' said +Mistress Sorrow impressively. 'You, who cannot bear to see a flower +growing in your garden, can surely not stand having a young girl about +in the house. It always brings a certain amount of brightness and life, +and that would not suit you.' + +'No; that is just what I have been sitting and thinking about.' + +'Get her a situation as lady's companion somewhere or other, but don't +keep her here.' + +She rose to say good-bye. + +'That was all I wanted to see you about,' she said. 'But how are you +yourself?' + +'Knives and scissors cut my heart all day long,' said her ladyship. 'I +only live in him as long as he is at home. It is worse than usual, much +worse this time. I cannot bear it much longer.' . . . + +Ingrid started; it was her ladyship's bell that rang. She had been +dreaming so vividly that she was quite surprised to see that her +ladyship was alone, and that the black sledge was not waiting before the +door. + +Her ladyship had rung for Miss Stafva, but she did not come. She asked +Ingrid to go down to her room and call her. + +Ingrid went, but the little blue-checked room was empty. The young girl +was going into the kitchen to ask for the housekeeper, but before she +had time to open the door she heard Hede talking. She stopped outside; +she could not persuade herself to go in and see him. + +She tried, however, to argue with herself. It was not his fault that he +was not the one she had been expecting. She must try to do something for +him; she must persuade him to remain at home. Before, she had not had +such a feeling against him. He was not so very bad. + +She bent down and peeped through the keyhole. It was the same here as at +other places. The servants tried to lead him on in order to amuse +themselves by his strange talk. They asked him whom he was going to +marry. Hede smiled; he liked to be asked about that kind of thing. + +'She is called Grave-Lily--don't you know that?' he said. + +The servant said she did not know that she had such a fine name. + +'But where does she live?' + +'Neither has she home nor has she farm,' Hede said. 'She lives in my +pack.' + +The servant said that was a queer home, and asked about her parents. + +'Neither has she father nor has she mother,' Hede said. 'She is as fine +as a flower; she has grown up in a garden.' + +He said all this with a certain amount of clearness, but when he wanted +to describe how beautiful his sweetheart was he could not get on at all. +He said a number of words, but they were strangely mixed together. One +could not follow his thoughts, but evidently he himself derived much +pleasure from what he said. He sat smiling and happy. + +Ingrid hurried away. She could not bear it any longer. She could not do +anything for him. She was afraid of him. She disliked him. But she had +not got further than the stairs before her conscience pricked her. Here +she had received so much kindness, and she would not make any return. + +In order to master her dislike she tried in her own mind to think of +Hede as a gentleman. She wondered how he had looked when he wore good +clothes, and had his hair brushed back. She closed her eyes for a moment +and thought. No, it was impossible, she could not imagine him as being +any different from what he was. The same moment she saw the outlines of +a beloved face by her side. It appeared at her left side wonderfully +distinct. This time the face did not smile. The lips trembled as if in +pain, and unspeakable suffering was written in sharp lines round the +mouth. + +Ingrid stopped half-way up the stairs and looked at it. There it was, +light and fleeting, as impossible to grasp and hold fast as a sun-spot +reflected by the prism of a chandelier, but just as visible, just as +real. She thought of her recent dream, but this was different--this was +reality. + +When she had looked a little at the face, the lips began to move; they +spoke, but she could not hear a sound. Then she tried to see what they +said, tried to read the words from the lips, as deaf people do, and she +succeeded. + +'Do not let me go,' the lips said; 'do not let me go.' + +And the anguish with which it was said! If a fellow-creature had been +lying at her feet begging for life, it could not have affected her more. +She was so overcome that she shook. It was more heart-rending than +anything she had ever heard in her whole life. Never had she thought +that anyone could beg in such fearful anguish. Again and again the lips +begged, 'Do not let me go!' And for every time the anguish was greater. + +Ingrid did not understand it, but remained standing, filled with +unspeakable pity. It seemed to her that more than life itself must be at +stake for one who begged like this, that his very soul must be at stake. + +The lips did not move any more; they stood half open in dull despair. +When they assumed this expression she uttered a cry and stumbled. She +recognised the face of the crazy fellow as she had just seen it. + +'No, no, no!' she said. 'It cannot be so! It must not! it cannot! It is +not possible that it is he!' + +The same moment the face vanished. She must have sat for a whole hour on +the cold staircase, crying in helpless despair. But at last hope sprang +up in her, strong and fair. She again took courage to raise her head. +All that had happened seemed to show that she should save him. It was +for that she had come here. She should have the great, great happiness +of saving him. + + * * * * * + +In the little boudoir her ladyship was talking to Miss Stafva. It +sounded so pitiful to hear her asking the housekeeper to persuade her +son to remain a few days longer. Miss Stafva tried to appear hard and +severe. + +'Of course, I can ask him,' she said; 'but your ladyship knows that no +one can make him stay longer than he wants.' + +'We have money enough, you know. There is not the slightest necessity +for him to go. Can you not tell him that?' said her ladyship. + +At the same moment Ingrid came in. The door opened noiselessly. She +glided through the room with light, airy steps; her eyes were radiant, +as if she beheld something beautiful afar off. + +When her ladyship saw her she frowned a little. She also felt an +inclination to be cruel, to give pain. + +'Ingrid,' she said, 'come here; I must speak with you about your +future.' + +The young girl had fetched her guitar and was about to leave the room. +She turned round to her ladyship. + +'My future?' she said, putting her hand to her forehead. 'My future is +already decided, you know,' she continued, with the smile of a martyr; +and without saying any more she left the room. + +Her ladyship and Stafva looked in surprise at each other. They began to +discuss where they should send the young girl. But when Miss Stafva came +down to her room she found Ingrid sitting there, singing some little +songs and playing on the guitar, and Hede sat opposite her, listening, +his face all sunshine. + + * * * * * + +Ever since Ingrid had recognised the student in the poor crazy fellow, +she had no other thought but that of trying to cure him; but this was a +difficult task, and she had no idea whatever as to how she should set +about it. To begin with, she only thought of how she could persuade him +to remain at Munkhyttan; and this was easy enough. Only for the sake of +hearing her play the violin or the guitar a little every day he would +now sit patiently from morning till evening in Miss Stafva's room +waiting for her. + +She thought it would be a great thing if she could get him to go into +the other rooms, but that she could not. She tried keeping in her room, +and said she would not play any more for him if he did not come to her. +But after she had remained there two days, he began to pack up his pack +to go away, and then she was obliged to give in. + +He showed great preference for her, and distinctly showed that he liked +her better than others; but she did not make him less frightened. She +begged him to leave off his sheepskin coat, and wear an ordinary coat. +He consented at once, but the next day he had it on again. Then she hid +it from him; but he then appeared in the man-servant's skin coat. So +then they would rather let him keep his own. He was still as frightened +as ever, and took great care no one came too near him. Even Ingrid was +not allowed to sit quite close to him. + +One day she said to him that now he must promise her something: he must +give over curtsying to the cat. She would not ask him to do anything so +difficult as give up curtsying to horses and dogs, but surely he could +not be afraid of a little cat. + +Yes, he said; the cat was a goat. + +'It can't be a goat,' she said; 'it has no horns, you know.' + +He was pleased to hear that. It seemed as if at last he had found +something by which he could distinguish a goat from other animals. + +The next day he met Miss Stafva's cat. + +'That goat has no horns,' he said; and laughed quite proudly. + +He went past it, and sat down on the sofa to listen to Ingrid playing. +But after he had sat a little while he grew restless, and he rose, went +up to the cat, and curtsied. + +Ingrid was in despair. She took him by his arm and shook him. He ran +straight out of the room, and did not appear until the next day. + +'Child, child,' said her ladyship, 'you do exactly as I did; you try the +same as I did. It will end by your frightening him so that he dare not +see you any more. It is better to leave him in peace. We are satisfied +with things as they are if he will only remain at home.' + +There was nothing else for Ingrid to do but wring her hands in sorrow +that such a fine, lovable fellow should be concealed in this crazy man. + +Ingrid thought again and again, had she really only come here to play +her grandfather's tunes to him? Should they go on like that all through +life? Would it never be otherwise? + +She also told him many stories, and in the midst of a story his face +would lighten up, and he would say something wonderfully subtle and +beautiful. A sane person would never have thought of anything like it. +And no more was needed to make her courage rise, and then she began +again with these endless experiments. + + * * * * * + +It was late one afternoon, and the moon was just about to rise. White +snow lay on the ground, and bright gray ice covered the lake. The trees +were blackish-brown, and the sky was a flaming red after the sunset. + +Ingrid was on her way to the lake to skate. She went along a narrow path +where the snow was quite trodden down. Gunnar Hede went behind her. +There was something cowed in his bearing that made one think of a dog +following its master. + +Ingrid looked tired; there was no brightness in her eyes, and her +complexion was gray. + +As she walked along she wondered whether the day, which was now so +nearly over, was content with itself--if it were from joy it had +lighted the great flaming red sunset far away in the west. + +She knew she could light no bonfire over this day, nor over any other +day. In the whole month that had passed since she recognised Gunnar Hede +she had gained nothing. + +And to-day a great fear had come upon her. It seemed to her as if she +might perhaps lose her love over all this. She was nearly forgetting the +student, only for thinking of the poor fellow. All that was bright and +beautiful and youthful vanished from her love. Nothing was left but +dull, heavy earnest. + +She was quite in despair as she walked towards the lake. She felt she +did not know what ought to be done--felt that she must give it all up. +Oh, God, to have him walking behind her apparently strong and hale, and +yet so helplessly, incurably sick! + +They had reached the lake, and she was putting on her skates. She also +wanted him to skate, and helped him to put on his skates; but he fell as +soon as he got on to the ice. He scrambled to the bank and sat down on a +stone, and she skated away from him. + +Just opposite the stone upon which Gunnar Hede was sitting was an islet +overgrown with birches and poplars, and behind it the radiant evening +sky, which was still flaming red. And the fine, light, leafless tops of +the trees stood against the glorious sky with such beauty that it was +impossible not to notice it. + +Is it not a fact that one always recognises a place by a single feature? +One does not exactly know how even the most familiar spot looks from +all sides. And Munkhyttan one always knew by the little islet. If one +had not seen the place for many years, one would know it again by this +islet, where the dark tree-tops were lifted towards the sunset. + +Hede sat quite still, and looked at the islet and at the branches of the +trees and at the gray ice which surrounded it. + +This was the view he knew best of all; there was nothing on the whole +estate he knew so well, for it was always this islet that attracted the +eye. And soon he was sitting looking at the islet without thinking about +it, just as one does with things one knows so well. He sat for a long +time gazing. Nothing disturbed him, not a human being, not a gust of +wind, no strange object. He could not see Ingrid; she had skated far +away on the ice. + +A rest and peace fell upon Gunnar Hede such as one only feels in home +surroundings. Security and peace came to him from the little islet; it +quieted the everlasting unrest that tormented him. + +Hede always imagined he was amongst enemies, and always thought of +defending himself. For many years he had not felt that peace which made +it possible for him to forget himself. But now it came upon him. + +Whilst Gunnar Hede was sitting thus and not thinking of anything, he +happened mechanically to make a movement as one may do when one finds +one's self in accustomed circumstances. As he sat there with the shining +ice before him and with skates on his feet, he got up and skated on to +the lake, and he thought as little of what he was doing as one thinks of +how one is holding fork or spoon when eating. + +He glided over the ice; it was glorious skating. He was a long way off +the shore before he realized what he was doing. + +'Splendid ice!' he thought. 'I wonder why I did not come down earlier in +the day. It is a good thing I was more here yesterday,' he said. 'I will +really not waste a single day during the rest of my vacation.' + +No doubt it was because Gunnar Hede happened to do something he was in +the habit of doing before he was ill that his old self awakened within +him. + +Thoughts and associations connected with his former life began to force +themselves upon his consciousness, and at the same time all the thoughts +connected with his illness sank into oblivion. + +It had been his habit when skating to take a wide turn on the lake in +order to see beyond a certain point. He did so now without thinking, but +when he had turned the point he knew he had skated there to see if there +was a light in his mother's window. + +'She thinks it is time I was coming home, but she must wait a little; +the ice is too good.' + +But it was mostly vague sensations of pleasure over the exercise and the +beautiful evening that were awakened within him. A moonlight evening +like this was just the time for skating; he was so fond of this peaceful +transition from day to night. It was still light, but the stillness of +night was already there, the best both of day and of night. + +There was another skater on the ice; it was a young girl. He was not +sure if he knew her, but he skated towards her to find out. No; it was +no one he knew, but he could not help making a remark when he passed her +about the splendid ice. + +The stranger was probably a young girl from the town. She was evidently +not accustomed to be addressed in this unceremonious manner; she looked +quite frightened when he spoke to her. He certainly was queerly dressed; +he was dressed quite like a peasant. + +Well, he did not want to frighten her away. He turned off and skated +further up the lake; the ice was big enough for them both. + +But Ingrid had nearly screamed with astonishment. He had come towards +her skating elegantly, with his arms crossed, the brim of his hat turned +up, and his hair thrown back, so that it did not fall over his ears. + +He had spoken with the voice of a gentleman, almost without the +slightest Dalar accent. She did not stop to think about it. She skated +quickly towards the shore. She came breathless into the kitchen. She did +not know how to say it shortly and quickly enough. + +'Miss Stafva, the young master has come home!' + +The kitchen was empty; neither the housekeeper nor the servants were +there. Nor was there anybody in the housekeeper's room. Ingrid rushed +through the whole house, went into rooms where no one ever went. The +whole time she cried out, 'Miss Stafva, Miss Stafva! the young master +has come home!' + +She was quite beside herself, and went on calling out, even when she +stood on the landing upstairs, surrounded by the servants, Miss Stafva, +and her ladyship herself. She said it over and over again. She was too +much excited to stop. They all understood what she meant. They stood +there quite as much overcome as she was. + +Ingrid turned restlessly from the one to the other. She ought to give +explanations and orders, but about what? That she could so lose her +presence of mind! She looked wildly questioning at her ladyship. + +'What was it I wanted?' + +The old lady gave some orders in a low, trembling voice. She almost +whispered. + +'Light the candles and make a fire in the young master's room. Lay out +the young master's clothes.' + +It was neither the place nor the time for Miss Stafva to be important. +But there was all the same a certain superior ring in her voice as she +answered: + +'There is always a fire in the young master's room. The young master's +clothes are always in readiness for him.' + +'Ingrid had better go up to her room,' said her ladyship. + +The young girl did just the opposite. She went into the drawing-room, +placed herself at the window, sobbed and shook, but did not herself +know that she was not still. She impatiently dried the tears from her +eyes, so that she could see over the snowfield in front of the house. If +only she did not cry, there was nothing she could miss seeing in the +clear moonlight. At last he came. + +'There he is! there he is!' she cried to her ladyship. 'He walks +quickly! he runs! Do come and see!' + +Her ladyship sat quite still before the fire. She did not move. She +strained her ears to hear, just as much as the other strained her eyes +to see. She asked Ingrid to be quiet, so that she could hear how he +walked. Ah, yes, she would be quiet. Her ladyship should hear how he +walked. She grasped the window-sill, as if that could help her. + +'You _shall_ be quiet,' she whispered, 'so that her ladyship can hear +how he walks.' + +Her ladyship sat bending forward, listening with all her soul. Did she +already hear his steps in the court-yard? She probably thought he would +go towards the kitchen. Did she hear that it was the front steps that +creaked? Did she hear that it was the door to the front hall that +opened? Did she hear how quickly he came up the stairs, two or three +steps at a time? Had his mother heard that? It was not the dragging step +of a peasant, as it had been when he left the house. + +It was almost more than they could bear, to hear him coming towards the +door of the drawing-room. Had he come in then, they would no doubt both +have screamed. But he turned down the corridor to his own rooms. + +Her ladyship fell back in her chair, and her eyes closed. Ingrid thought +her ladyship would have liked to die at that moment. Without opening her +eyes, she put out her hand. Ingrid went softly up and took it; the old +lady drew her towards her. + +'Mignon, Mignon,' she said; 'that was the right name after all. But,' +she continued, 'we must not cry. We must not speak about it. Take a +stool and come and sit down by the fire. We must be calm, my little +friend. Let us speak about something else. We must be perfectly calm +when he comes in.' + +Half an hour afterwards Hede came in; the tea was on the table, and the +chandelier was lighted. He had dressed; every trace of the peasant had +disappeared. Ingrid and her ladyship pressed each other's hands. + +They had been sitting trying to imagine how he would look when he came +in. It was impossible to say what he might say or do, said her ladyship. +One never had known what he might do. But in any case they would both be +quite calm. A feeling of great happiness had come over her, and that had +quieted her. She was resting, free from all sorrow, in the arms of +angels carrying her upwards, upwards. + +But when Hede came in, there was no sign of confusion about him. + +'I have only come to tell you,' he said, 'that I have got such a +headache, that I shall have to go to bed at once. I felt it already when +I was on the ice.' + +Her ladyship made no reply. Everything was so simple; she had never +thought it would be like that. It took her a few moments to realize that +he did not know anything about his illness, that he was living somewhere +in the past. + +'But perhaps I can first drink a cup of tea,' he said, looking a little +surprised at their silence. + +Her ladyship went to the tea-tray. He looked at her. + +'Have you been crying, mother? You are so quiet.' + +'We have been sitting talking about a sad story, I and my young friend +here,' said her ladyship, pointing to Ingrid. + +'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'I did not see you had visitors.' + +The young girl came forward towards the light, beautiful as one would be +who knew that the gates of heaven the next moment would open before her. + +He bowed a little stiffly. He evidently did not know who she was. Her +ladyship introduced them to each other. He looked curiously at Ingrid. + +'I think I saw Miss Berg on the ice,' he said. + +He knew nothing about her--had never spoken to her before. + + * * * * * + +A short, happy time followed. Gunnar Hede was certainly not quite +himself; but those around him were happy in the belief that he soon +would be. His memory was partly gone. He knew nothing about certain +periods of his life; he could not play the violin; he had almost +forgotten all he knew; and his power of thinking was weak; and he +preferred neither to read nor to write. But still he was very much +better. He was not frightened; he was fond of his mother; he had again +assumed the manners and habits of a gentleman. One can easily understand +that her ladyship and all her household were delighted. + +Hede was in the best of spirits--bright and joyous all day long. He +never speculated over anything, put to one side everything he could not +understand, never spoke about anything that necessitated mental +exertion, but talked merrily and cheerfully. He was most happy when he +was engaged in bodily exercise. He took Ingrid out with him sledging and +skating. He did not talk much to her, but she was happy to be with him. +He was kind to Ingrid, as he was to everyone else, but not in the least +in love with her. He often wondered about his _fianc['e]e_--wondered why +she never wrote. But after a short time that trouble, too, left him. He +always put away from him anything that worried him. + +Ingrid thought that he would never get really well by doing like this. +He must some time be made to think--to face his own thoughts, which he +was afraid of doing now. But she dared not compel him to do this, and +there was no one else who dared. If he began to care for her a little, +perhaps she might dare. She thought all they now wanted, every one of +them, was a little happiness. + + * * * * * + +It was just at that time that a little child died at the Parsonage at +Raglanda where Ingrid had been brought up; and the grave-digger was +about to dig the grave. + +The man dug the grave quite close to the spot where the previous summer +he had dug the grave for Ingrid. And when he had got a few feet into the +ground he happened to lay bare a corner of her coffin. The grave-digger +could not help smiling a little to himself. Of course he had heard that +the dead girl lying in this coffin had appeared. She was supposed to +have unscrewed her coffin-lid on the very day of her funeral, risen from +the grave, and appeared at the Parsonage. The Pastor's wife was not so +much liked but that people in the parish rather enjoyed telling this +story about her. The grave-digger thought that people should only know +how securely the dead were lying in the ground, and how fast the +coffin-lids. . . . + +He interrupted himself in the midst of this thought. On the corner of +the coffin which was exposed the lid was not quite straight, and one of +the screws was not quite fast. He did not say anything, he did not think +anything, but stopped digging and whistled the whole reveille of the +Vermland Regiment--for he was an old soldier. Then he thought he had +better examine the thing properly. It would never do for a grave-digger +to have thoughts about the dead which might come and trouble him during +the dark autumn nights. He hastily removed some more earth. Then he +began to hammer on the coffin with his shovel. The coffin answered quite +distinctly that it was empty--empty. + +Half an hour after the grave-digger was at the Parsonage. There was no +end to the questionings and surmises. So much they were all agreed +upon--that the young girl had been in the Dalar man's pack. But what had +become of her afterwards? + +Anna Stina stood at the oven in the Parsonage and looked after the +baking, for of course there was baking to be done for the new funeral. +She stood for a long time listening to all this talk without saying a +word. All she took care of was that the cakes were not burnt. She put +sheet-tins in and took sheet-tins out, and it was dangerous to approach +her as she stood there with the long baker's shovel. But suddenly she +took off her kitchen-apron, wiped the worst of the sweat and the soot +from her face, and was talking with the Pastor in his study almost +before she knew how it had come about. + +After this it was not so very wonderful that one day in March the +Pastor's little red-painted sledge, ornamented with green tulips, and +drawn by the Pastor's little red horse, pulled up at Munkhyttan. Ingrid +was of course obliged to go back with the Pastor home to her mother. The +Pastor had come to fetch her. He did not say much about their being glad +that she was alive, but one could see how happy he was. He had never +been able to forgive himself that they had not been more kind to their +adopted daughter. And now he was radiant at the thought that he was +allowed to make a new beginning and make everything good for her this +time. + +They did not speak a word about the reason why she had run away. It was +of no use bringing that up again so long after. But Ingrid understood +that the Pastor's wife had had a hard time, and had suffered many pangs +of conscience, and that they wanted to have her back again in order to +be good to her. She felt that she was almost obliged to go back to the +Parsonage to show that she had no ill-feeling against her adopted +parents. + +They all thought it was the most natural thing that she should go to the +Parsonage for a week or two. And why should she not? She could not make +the excuse that they needed her at Munkhyttan. She could surely be away +for some weeks without it doing Gunnar Hede any harm. She felt it was +hard, but it was best she should go away, as they all thought it was the +right thing. + +Perhaps she had hoped they would ask her not to go away. She took her +seat in the sledge with the feeling that her ladyship or Miss Stafva +would surely come and lift her out of it, and carry her into the house +again. It was impossible to realize that she was actually driving down +the avenue, that she was turning into the forest, and that Munkhyttan +was disappearing behind her. + +But supposing it was from pure goodness that they let her go? They +thought, perhaps, that youth, with its craving for pleasure, wanted to +get away from the loneliness of Munkhyttan. They thought, perhaps, she +was tired of being the keeper of a crazy man. She raised her hand, and +was on the point of seizing the reins and turning the horse. Now that +she was several miles from the house it struck her that that was why +they had let her go. She would have liked so much to have gone back and +asked them. + +In her utter loneliness she felt as if she were groping about in the +wild forest. There was not a single human being who answered her or +advised her. She received just as much answer from fir and pine, and +squirrel and owl, as she did from any human being. + +It was really a matter of utter indifference to her how they treated her +at the Parsonage. They were very kind to her, as far as she knew, but it +really did not matter. If she had come to a palace full of everything +one could most desire, that would likewise have been the same to her. No +bed is soft enough to give rest unto one whose heart is full of longing. + +In the beginning she had asked them every day, as modestly as she could, +if they would not let her go home, now that she had had the great +happiness of seeing her mother and her brothers and sisters. But the +roads were really too bad. She must stay with them until the frost had +disappeared. It was not a matter of life and death, they supposed, to go +back to that place. + +Ingrid could not understand why it annoyed people when she said she +wanted to go back to Munkhyttan. But this seemed to be the case with her +father and her mother and everybody else in the parish. One had no +right, it appeared, to long for any other place in the world, when one +was at Raglanda. + +She soon saw it was best not to speak about her going away. There were +so many difficulties in the way whenever she spoke about it. It was not +enough that the roads were still in the same bad condition; they +surrounded her with walls and ramparts and moats. She would knit and +weave, and plant out in the forcing-frames. And surely she would not go +away until after the large birthday party at the Dean's? And she could +not think of leaving till after Karin Landberg's wedding. + +There was nothing for her to do but to lift her hands in supplication to +the spring, and beg it to make haste with its work, beg for sunshine and +warmth, beg the gentle sun to do its very best for the great border +forest, send small piercing rays between the fir-trees, and melt the +snow beneath them. Dear, dear sun! It did not matter if the snow were +not melted in the valley, if only the snow would vanish from the +mountains, if only the forest paths became passable, if only the S[:a]ter +girls were able to go to their huts, if only the bogs became dry, if +only it became possible to go by the forest road, which was half the +distance of the highroad. + +Ingrid knew one who would not wait for carriage, or ask for money to +drive, if only the road through the forest became passable. She knew one +who would leave the Parsonage some moonlight night, and who would do it +without asking a single person's permission. + +She thought she had waited for the spring before. That everybody does. +But now Ingrid knew that she had never before longed for it. Oh no, no! +She had never before known what it was to long. Before she had waited +for green leaves and anemones, and the song of the thrush and the +cuckoo. But that was childishness--nothing more. They did not long for +the spring who only thought of what was beautiful. One should take the +first bit of earth that peeped through the snow, and kiss it. One should +pluck the first coarse leaf of the nettle simply to burn into one that +now the spring had come. + +Everybody was very good to her. But although they did not say anything, +they seemed to think that she was always thinking of leaving them. + +'I can't understand why you want to go back to that place and look after +that crazy fellow,' said Karin Landberg one day. It seemed as if she +could read Ingrid's thoughts. + +'Oh, she has given up thinking of that now,' said the Pastor's wife, +before the young girl had time to answer. + +When Karin was gone the Pastor's wife said: + +'People wonder that you want to leave us.' + +Ingrid was silent. + +'They say that when Hede began to improve perhaps you fell in love with +him.' + +'Oh no! Not after he had begun to improve,' Ingrid said, feeling almost +inclined to laugh. + +'In any case, he is not the sort of person one could marry,' said her +adopted mother. 'Father and I have been speaking about it, and we think +it is best that you should remain with us.' + +'It is very good of you that you want to keep me,' Ingrid said. And she +was touched that now they wanted to be so kind to her. + +They did not believe her, however obedient she was. She could not +understand what little bird it was that told them about her longing. +Now her adopted mother had told her that she must not go back to +Munkhyttan. But even then she could not leave the matter alone. + +'If they really wanted you,' she said, 'they would write for you.' + +Ingrid again felt inclined to laugh. That would be the strangest thing +of all, should there be a letter from the enchanted castle. She would +like to know if her adopted mother thought that the King of the Mountain +wrote for the maiden who had been swallowed by the mountain to come back +when she had gone to see her mother? + +But if her adopted mother had known how many messages she had received +she would probably have been even more uneasy. There came messages to +her in her dreams by nights, and there came messages to her in her +visions by day. He let Ingrid know that he was in need of her. He was so +ill--so ill! + +She knew that he was nearly going out of his mind again, and that she +must go to him. If anyone had told her this, she would simply have +answered that she knew it. + +The large star-like eyes looked further and further away. Those who saw +that look would never believe that she meant to stay quietly and +patiently at home. + +It is not very difficult either to see whether a person is content or +full of longing. One only needs to see a little gleam of happiness in +the eyes when he or she comes in from work and sits down by the fire. +But in Ingrid's eyes there was no gleam of happiness, except when she +saw the mountain stream come down through the forest, broad and strong. +It was that that should prepare the way for her. + +It happened one day that Ingrid was sitting alone with Karin Landberg, +and she began to tell her about her life at Munkhyttan. Karin was quite +shocked. How could Ingrid stand such a life? + +Karin Landberg was to be married very soon. And she was now at that +stage when she could speak of nothing but her lover. She knew nothing +but what he had taught her, and she could do nothing without first +consulting him. + +It occurred to her that Oluf had said something about Gunnar Hede which +would help to frighten Ingrid if she had begun to like that crazy +fellow. And then she began to tell her how mad he had really been. For +Oluf had told her that when he was at the fair last autumn some +gentlemen had said that they did not think the Goat was mad at all. He +only pretended to be in order to attract customers. But Oluf had +maintained that he was mad, and in order to prove it went to the market +and bought a wretched little goat. And then it was plain enough to see +that he was mad. Oluf had only put the goat in front of him on the +counter where his knives and things lay, and he had run away and left +both his pack and his wares, and they had all laughed so awfully when +they saw how frightened he was. And it was impossible that Ingrid could +care for anyone who had been so crazy. + +It was, no doubt, unwise of Karin Landberg that she did not look at +Ingrid whilst she told this story. If she had seen how she frowned, she +would perhaps have taken warning. + +'And you will marry anyone who could do such a thing!' Ingrid said. 'I +think it would be better to marry the Goat himself.' + +This Ingrid said in downright earnest, and it seemed so strange to Karin +that she, who was always so gentle, should have said anything so unkind, +that it quite worried her. For several days she was quite unhappy, +because she feared Oluf was not what she would like him to be. It simply +embittered Karin's life until she made up her mind to tell Oluf +everything; but he was so nice and good, that he quite reassured her. + +It is not an easy task to wait for the spring in Vermland. One can have +sun and warmth in the evening, and the next morning find the ground +white with snow. Gooseberry-bushes and lawns may be green, but the trees +of the birch-forest are bare, and seem as if they will never spring out. + +At Whitsuntide there was spring in the air, but Ingrid's prayers had +been of no avail. Not a single S[:a]ter girl had taken up her abode in the +forest, not a fen was dry; it was impossible to go through the forest. + +On Whit-Sunday Ingrid and her adopted mother went to church. As it was +such a great festival, they had driven to church. In olden days Ingrid +had very much enjoyed driving up to the church in full gallop, whilst +people along the roadside politely took off their hats, and those who +were standing on the road rushed to the side as if they were quite +frightened. But at the present moment she could not enjoy anything. +'Longing takes the fragrance from the rose, and the light from the full +moon,' says an old proverb. + +But Ingrid was glad for what she heard in church. It did her good to +hear how the disciples were comforted in their longing. She was glad +that Jesus thought of comforting those who longed so greatly for Him. + +Whilst Ingrid and the rest of the congregation were in church a tall +Dalar man came walking down the road. He wore a sheepskin coat, and had +a large pack on his back, like one who cannot tell winter from summer, +or Sunday from any other day. He did not go into the church, but stole +timidly past the horses that were tied to the railings, and went into +the churchyard. + +He sat down on a grave and thought of all the dead who were still +sleeping, and of one of the dead who had awakened to life again. He was +still sitting there when the people left the church. Karin Landberg's +Oluf was one of the first to leave the church, and when he happened to +look across the churchyard he discovered the Dalar man. It is hard to +say whether it was curiosity or some other motive that prompted him, but +he went up to talk to him. He wanted to see if it were possible that he +who was supposed to have been cured had become mad again. + +And it was possible. He told him at once that he sat there waiting for +her who was called Grave-Lily. She was to come and play to him. She +played so beautifully that the sun and the stars danced. + +Then Karin Landberg's Oluf told him that she for whom he was waiting was +standing outside the church. If he stood up, he could see her. She +would, no doubt, be glad to see him. + +The Pastor's wife and Ingrid were just getting into the carriage, when a +tall Dalar man came running up to them. He came at a great pace in spite +of all the horses he must curtsy to, and he beckoned eagerly to the +young girl. + +As soon as Ingrid saw him she stood quite still. She could not have told +whether she was most glad to see him again or most grieved that he had +again gone out of his mind; she only forgot everything else in the +world. + +Her eyes began to sparkle. In that moment she saw nothing of the poor +wretched man. She only felt that she was once again near the beautiful +soul of the man for whom she had longed so terribly. + +There were a great many people about, and they could not help looking at +her. They could not take their eyes from her face. She did not move; she +stood waiting for him. But those who saw how radiant she was with +happiness must have thought that she was waiting for some great and +noble man, instead of a poor, half-witted fellow. + +They said afterwards that it almost seemed as if there were some +affinity between his soul and hers--some secret affinity which lay so +deeply hidden beneath their consciousness that no human being could +understand it. + +But when Hede was only a step or two from Ingrid her adopted mother took +her resolutely round the waist and lifted her into the carriage. She +would not have a scene between the two just outside the church, with so +many people present. And as soon as they were in the carriage the man +sent his horses off at full gallop. + +A wild, terrified cry was heard as they drove away. The Pastor's wife +thanked God that she had got the young girl into the carriage. + +It was still early in the afternoon when a peasant came to the Parsonage +to speak with the Pastor. He came to speak about the crazy Dalar man. He +had now gone quite raving mad, and they had been obliged to bind him. +What did the Pastor advise them to do? What should they do with him? + +The Pastor could give them no other advice but to take him home. He told +the peasant who he was, and where he lived. + +Later on in the evening he told Ingrid everything. It was best to tell +her the truth, and trust to her own common-sense. + +But when night came it became clear to her that she had not time to wait +for the spring. The poor girl set out for Munkhyttan by the highroad. +She would no doubt be able to get there by that road, although she knew +that it was twice as long as the way through the forest. + + * * * * * + +It was Whit-Monday, late in the afternoon. Ingrid walked along the +highroad. There was a wide expanse of country, with low mountains and +small patches of birch forest between the fields. The mountain-ash and +the bird-cherry were in bloom; the light, sticky leaves of the aspen +were just out. The ditches were full of clear, rippling water which made +the stones at the bottom glisten and sparkle. + +Ingrid walked sorrowfully along, thinking of him whose mind had again +given way, wondering whether she could do anything for him, whether it +was of any use that she had left her home in this manner. + +She was tired and hungry; her shoes had begun to go to pieces. Perhaps +it would be better for her to turn back. She could never get to +Munkhyttan. + +The further she walked, the more sorrowful she became. She could not +help thinking that it could be of no use her coming now that he had gone +quite out of his mind. There was no doubt it was too late now; it was +quite hopeless to do anything for him. + +But as soon as she thought of turning back she saw Gunnar Hede's face +close to her cheek, as she had so often seen it before. It gave her new +courage; she felt as if he were calling for her. She again felt hopeful +and confident of being able to help him. + +Just as Ingrid raised her head, looking a little less downcast, a queer +little procession came towards her. + +There was a little horse, drawing a little cart; a fat woman sat in the +cart, and a tall, thin man, with long, thin moustaches walked by the +side of it. + +In the country, where no one understood anything about art, Mr. and +Mrs. Blomgren always went in for looking like ordinary people. The +little cart in which they travelled about was well covered over, and no +one could suspect that it only contained fireworks and conjuring +apparatus and marionettes. + +No one could suspect that the fat woman who sat on the top of the load, +looking like a well-to-do shopkeeper's wife, was formerly Miss Viola, +who once sprang through the air, or that the man who walked by her side, +and looked like a pensioned soldier, was the same Mr. Blomgren who +occasionally, to break the monotony of the journey, took it into his +head to turn a somersault over the horse, and play the ventriloquist +with thrushes and siskins that sang in the trees by the roadside, so +that he made them quite mad. + +The horse was very small, and had formerly drawn a roundabout, and +therefore it would never go unless it heard music. On that account Mrs. +Blomgren generally sat playing the Jews'-harp, but as soon as they met +anyone, she put it in her pocket, so that no one should discover they +were artists, for whom country people have no respect whatever. Owing to +this they did not travel very fast, but they were not in any hurry +either. + +The blind man, who played the violin, had to walk some little distance +behind the others in order not to betray the fact of his belonging to +the company. The blind man was led by a little dog; he was not allowed +to have a child to lead him, for that would always have reminded Mr. +and Mrs. Blomgren of a little girl who was called Ingrid. That would +have been too sad. + +And now they were all in the country on account of the spring. For +however much money Mr. and Mrs. Blomgren were making in the towns, they +felt they _must_ be in the country at that time of the year, for Mr. and +Mrs. Blomgren were artists. + +They did not recognise Ingrid, and she went past them without taking any +notice of them, for she was in a hurry; she was afraid of their +detaining her. But directly afterwards she felt that it was heartless +and unkind of her, and turned back. + +If Ingrid could have felt glad about anything, she would have been glad +by seeing the old people's joy at meeting her. You may be sure they had +plenty to talk about. The little horse turned its head time after time +to see what was wrong with the roundabout. + +Strangely enough, it was Ingrid who talked the most. The two old people +saw at once that she had been crying, and they were so concerned that +she was obliged to tell them everything that had happened to her. + +But it was a relief to Ingrid to speak. The old people had their own way +of taking things; they clapped their hands when she told them how she +had got out of the grave and how she had frightened the Pastor's wife. +They caressed her and praised her because she had run away from the +Parsonage. For them nothing was dull or sad, but everything was bright +and hopeful. They simply had no standard by which to measure reality, +and therefore its hardness could not affect them. They compared +everything they heard with the pieces from marionette theatres and +pantomimes. Of course, one also put a little sorrow and misery into the +pantomime, but that was only done to heighten the effect. And, of +course, everything would end well. In the pantomimes it always ended +well. + +There was something infectious in all this hopefulness. Ingrid knew they +did not at all understand how great her trouble was, but it was cheering +all the same to listen to them. + +But they were also of real help to Ingrid. They told her that they had +had dinner a short time since at the inn at Tors[:a]ker, and just as they +were getting up from the table some peasants came driving up with a man +who was mad. Mrs. Blomgren could not bear to see mad people, and wanted +to go away at once, and Mr. Blomgren had consented. But supposing it was +Ingrid's madman! And they had hardly said the words before Ingrid said +that it was very likely, and wanted to set off at once. + +Mr. Blomgren then asked his wife in his own ceremonious manner if they +were not in the country solely on account of the spring, and if it were +not just the same where they went. And old Mrs. Blomgren asked him +equally ceremoniously in her turn if he thought she would leave her +beloved Ingrid before she had reached the harbour of her happiness. + +Then the old roundabout horse was turned, and conversation grew more +difficult, because they again had to play on the Jews'-harp. As soon as +Mrs. Blomgren wished to say anything, she was obliged to hand the +instrument to Mr. Blomgren, and when Mr. Blomgren wanted to speak, he +gave it back again to his wife. And the little horse stood still every +time the instrument passed from mouth to mouth. + +The whole time they did their best to comfort Ingrid. They related all +the fairy tales they had seen represented at the dolls' theatre. They +comforted her with the 'Enchanted Princess,' they comforted her with +'Cinderella,' they comforted her with all the fairy tales under the sun. + +Mr. and Mrs. Blomgren watched Ingrid when they saw that her eyes grew +brighter. 'Artist's eyes,' they said, nodding contentedly to each other. +'What did we say? Artist's eyes!' + +In some incomprehensible manner they had got the idea that Ingrid had +become one of them, an artist. They thought she was playing a part in a +drama. It was a triumph for them in their old age. + +On they went as fast as they could. The old couple were only afraid that +the madman would not be at the inn any longer. But he was there, and the +worst of it was, no one knew how to get him away. + +The two peasants from Raglanda who had brought him had taken him to one +of the rooms and locked him in whilst they were waiting for fresh +horses. When they left him his arms had been tied behind him, but he had +somehow managed to free his hands from the cord, and when they came to +fetch him he was free, and, beside himself with rage, had seized a +chair, with which he threatened to strike anyone who approached him. +They could do nothing but beat a hasty retreat and lock the door. The +peasants now only waited for the landlord and his men to return and help +them to bind him again. + +All the hope which Ingrid's old friends had reawakened within her was, +however, not quenched. She quite saw that Gunnar Hede was worse than he +had ever been before, but that was what she had expected. She still +hoped. It was not their fairy tales, it was their great love that had +given her new hope. + +She asked the men to let her go to the madman. She said she knew him, +and he would not do her any harm; but the peasants said they were not +mad. The man in the room would kill anybody who went in. + +Ingrid sat down to think. She thought how strange it was that she should +meet Mr. and Mrs. Blomgren just to-day. Surely that meant something. She +would never have met them if it had not been for some purpose. And +Ingrid thought of how Hede had regained his senses the last time. Could +she not again make him do something which would remind him of olden +days, and drive away his mad thoughts? She thought and thought. + + * * * * * + +Mr. and Mrs. Blomgren sat on a seat outside the inn, looking more +unhappy than one would have thought was possible. They were not far from +crying. + +Ingrid, their 'child,' came up to them with a smile--such a smile as +only she could have--and stroked their old, wrinkled cheeks, and said +it would please her so much if they would let her see a performance like +those she used to see every day in the olden time. It would be such a +comfort to her. + +At first they said no, for they were not at all in proper artist humour, +but when she had expended a few smiles upon them they could not resist +her. They went to their cart and unpacked their costumes. + +When they were ready they called for the blind man, and Ingrid selected +the place where the performance was to be held. She would not let them +perform in the yard, but took them into the garden belonging to the inn, +for there was a garden belonging to this inn. It was mostly full of beds +for vegetables which had not yet come up, but here and there was an +apple-tree in bloom. And Ingrid said she would like them to perform +under one of the apple-trees in bloom. + +Some lads and servant-girls came running when they heard the violin, so +there was a small audience. But it was hard work for Mr. and Mrs. +Blomgren to perform. Ingrid had asked too much of them; they were really +much too sad. + +And it was very unfortunate that Ingrid had taken them out into the +garden. She had evidently not remembered that the rooms in the inn faced +this way. Mrs. Blomgren was very nearly running away when she heard a +window in one of the rooms quickly opened. Supposing the madman had +heard the music, and supposing he jumped out of the window and came to +them? + +But Mrs. Blomgren was somewhat reassured when she saw who had opened +the window. It was a young gentleman with a pleasant face. He was in +shirt-sleeves, but otherwise very decently dressed. His eye was quiet, +his lips smiled, and he stroked his hair back from his forehead with his +hand. + +Mr. Blomgren was working, and was so taken up with the performance that +he did not notice anything. Mrs. Blomgren, who had nothing else to do +but kiss her hands in all directions, had time to observe everything. + +It was astonishing how radiant Ingrid suddenly looked. Her eyes shone as +never before, and her face was so white that light seemed to come from +it. And all this radiancy was directed towards the man in the window. + +He did not hesitate long. He stood up on the window-sill and jumped down +to them, and he went up to the blind man and asked him to lend him his +violin. Ingrid at once took the violin from the blind man and gave it to +him. + +'Play the waltz from "Freisch[:u]tz,"' she said. + +Then the man began to play, and Ingrid smiled, but she looked so +unearthly that Mrs. Blomgren almost thought that she would dissolve into +a sunbeam, and fly away from them. But as soon as Mrs. Blomgren heard +the man play she knew him again. + +'Is that how it is?' she said to herself. 'Is it he? That was why she +wanted to see two old people perform.' + + * * * * * + +Gunnar Hede, who had been walking up and down his room in such a rage +that he felt inclined to kill someone, had suddenly heard a blind man +playing outside his window, and that had taken him back to an incident +in his former life. + +He could not at first understand where his own violin was, but then he +remembered that Alin had taken it away with him, and now the only thing +left for him to do was to try and borrow the blind man's violin to play +himself quiet again; he was so excited. And as soon as he had got the +violin in his hand he began to play. It never occurred to him that he +could not play. He had no idea that for several years he had only been +able to play some poor little tunes. + +He thought all the time he was in Upsala, outside the house with the +Virginia-creepers, and he expected the acrobats would begin to dance as +they had done last time. He endeavoured to play with more life to make +them do so, but his fingers were stiff and awkward; the bow would not +properly obey them. He exerted himself so much that the perspiration +stood on his forehead. + +At last, however, he got hold of the right tune--the same they had +danced to the last time. He played it so enticingly, so temptingly, that +it ought to have melted their hearts. But the old acrobats did not begin +to dance. It was a long time since they had met the student at Upsala; +they did not remember how enthusiastic they were then. They had no idea +what he expected them to do. + +Gunnar Hede looked at Ingrid for an explanation why they did not dance. +When he looked at her there was such an unearthly radiance in her eyes +that in his astonishment he gave up playing. He stood a moment looking +round the small crowd. They all looked at him with such strange, uneasy +glances. It was impossible to play with people staring at him so. He +simply went away from them. There were some apple-pears in bloom at the +other end of the garden, so he went there. + +He saw now that nothing fitted in with the ideas he had just had that +Alin had locked him in, and that he was at Upsala. The garden was too +large, and the house was not covered with red creepers. No, it could not +be Upsala. But he did not mind very much where he was. It seemed to him +as if he had not played for centuries, and now he had got hold of a +violin. Now he would play. He placed the violin against his cheek, and +began. But again he was stopped by the stiffness in his fingers. He +could only play the very simplest things. + +'I shall have to begin at the beginning,' he said. + +And he smiled and played a little minuet. It was the first thing he had +learnt. His father had played it to him, and he had afterwards played it +from ear. He saw all at once the whole scene before him, and he heard +the words: + +'The little Prince should learn to dance, but he broke his little leg.' + +Then he tried to play several other small dances. They were some he had +played as a school boy. They had asked him to play at the +dancing-lessons at the young ladies' boarding-school. He could see the +girls dance and swing about, and could hear the dancing-mistress beat +the time with her foot. + +Then he grew bolder. He played first violin in one of Mozart's +quartettes. When he learnt that, he was in the Sixth Form at the Latin +school at Falun. Some old gentlemen had practised this quartette for a +concert, but the first violin had been taken ill, and he was asked to +take his part, young as he was. He remembered how proud he had been. + +Gunnar Hede only thought of getting his fingers into practice when he +played these childish exercises. But he soon noticed that something +strange was happening to him. He had a distinct sensation that in his +brain there was some great darkness that hid his past. As soon as he +tried to remember anything, it was as if he were trying to find +something in a dark room; but when he played, some of the darkness +vanished. Without his having thought of it, the darkness had vanished so +much that he could now remember his childhood and school life. + +Then he made up his mind to let himself be led by the violin; perhaps it +could drive away all the darkness. And so it did, for every piece he +played the darkness vanished a little. The violin led him through the +one year after the other, awoke in him memories of studies, friends and +pleasures. The darkness stood like a wall before him, but when he +advanced against it, armed with the violin, it vanished step by step. +Now and then he looked round to see whether it closed again behind him. +But behind him was bright day. + +The violin came to a series of duets for piano and violin. He only +played a bar or two of each. But a large portion of the darkness +vanished; he remembered his _fianc['e]e_ and his engagement. He would like +to have dwelt a little over this, but there was still much darkness left +to be played away. He had no time. + +He glided into a hymn. He had heard it once when he was unhappy. He +remembered he was sitting in a village church when he heard it. But why +had he been unhappy? Because he went about the country selling goods +like a poor pedlar. It was a hard life. It was sad to think about it. + +The bow went over the strings like a whirlwind, and again cut through a +large portion of the darkness. Now he saw the Fifty-Mile Forest, the +snow-covered animals, the weird shapes, the drifts made of them. He +remembered the journey to see his _fianc['e]e_, remembered that she had +broken the engagement. All this became clear to him at one time. + +He really felt neither sorrow nor joy over anything he remembered. The +most important thing was that he did remember. This of itself was an +unspeakable pleasure. But all at once the bow stopped, as if of its own +accord. It would not lead him any further. And yet there was more--much +more--that he must remember. The darkness still stood like a solid wall +before him. + +He compelled the bow to go on. And it played two quite common tunes, the +poorest he had ever heard. How could his bow have learned such tunes? +The darkness did not vanish in the least for these tunes. They really +taught him nothing; but from them came a terror which he could not +remember having ever felt before--an inconceivable, awful fear, the mad +terror of a doomed soul. + +He stopped playing; he could not bear it. What was there in these +tunes--what was there? The darkness did not vanish for them, and the +awful thing was, that it seemed to him that when he did not advance +against the darkness with the violin and drive it before him, it came +gliding towards him to overwhelm him. + +He had been standing playing, with his eyes half closed; now he opened +them and looked into the world of reality. He saw Ingrid, who had been +standing listening to him the whole time. He asked her, not expecting an +answer, but simply to keep back the darkness for a moment: + +'When did I last play this tune?' + +But Ingrid stood trembling. She had made up her mind, whatever happened, +now he should hear the truth. Afraid she was, but at the same time full +of courage, and quite decided as to what she meant to do. He should not +again escape her, not be allowed to slip away from her. But in spite of +her courage she did not dare to tell him straight out that these were +the tunes he had played whilst he was out of his mind; she evaded the +question. + +'That was what you used to play at Munkhyttan last winter,' she said. + +Hede felt as if he were surrounded by nothing but mysteries. Why did +this young girl say '_du_' to him? She was not a peasant girl.[A] Her +hair was dressed like other young ladies', on the top of the head and +in small curls. Her dress was home-woven, but she wore a lace collar. +She had small hands and a refined face. This face, with the large, +dreamy eyes, could not belong to a peasant girl. Hede's memory could not +tell him anything about her. Why did she, then, say '_du_' to him? How +did she know that he had played these tunes at home? + + [A] The peasants in the Dalar district used formerly to address + everybody by the pronoun _du_ (thou), even when speaking to the King; + this custom is now, however, not so general.--I.B. + +'What is your name?' he said. 'Who are you?' + +'I am Ingrid, whom you saw at Upsala many years ago, and whom you +comforted because she could not learn to dance on the tight-rope.' + +This went back to the time he could partly remember. Now he did remember +her. + +'How tall and pretty you have grown, Ingrid!' he said. 'And how fine you +have become! What a beautiful brooch you have!' + +He had been looking at her brooch for some time. He thought he knew it; +it was like a brooch of enamel and pearls his mother used to wear. The +young girl answered at once. + +'Your mother gave it to me. You must have seen it before.' + +Gunnar Hede put down the violin and went up to Ingrid. He asked her +almost violently: + +'How is it possible--how can you wear her brooch? How is it that I don't +know anything about your knowing my mother?' + +Ingrid was frightened. She grew almost gray with terror. She knew +already what the next question would be. + +'I know nothing, Ingrid. I don't know why I am here. I don't know why +you are here. Why don't I know all this?' + +'Oh, don't ask me!' + +She went back a step or two, and stretched out her hands as if to +protect herself. + +'Won't you tell me?' + +'Don't ask! don't ask!' + +He seized her roughly by the wrist to compel her to tell the truth. + +'Tell me! I am in my full senses! Why is there so much I can't +remember?' + +She saw something wild and threatening in his eyes. She knew now that +she would be obliged to tell him. But she felt as if it were impossible +to tell a man that he had been mad. It was much more difficult than she +had thought. It was impossible--impossible! + +'Tell me!' he repeated. + +But she could hear from his voice that he would not hear it. He was +almost ready to kill her if she told him. Then she summoned up all her +love, and looked straight into Gunnar Hede's eyes, and said: + +'You have not been quite right.' + +'Not for a long time?' + +'I don't quite know--not for three or four years.' + +'Have I been out of my mind?' + +'No, no! You have bought and sold and gone to the fairs.' + +'In what way have I been mad?' + +'You were frightened.' + +'Of whom was I frightened?' + +'Of animals.' + +'Of goats, perhaps?' + +'Yes, mostly of goats.' + +He had stood clutching her by the wrist the whole time. He now flung her +hand away from him--simply flung it. He turned away from Ingrid in a +rage, as if she had maliciously told him an infamous lie. + +But this feeling gave way for something else which excited him still +more. He saw before his eyes, as distinctly as if it had been a picture, +a tall Dalar man, weighed down by a huge pack. He was going into a +peasant's house, but a wretched little dog came rushing at him. He +stopped and curtsied and curtsied, and did not dare to go in until a man +came out of the house, laughing, and drove the dog away. + +When he saw this he again felt that terrible fear. In this anguish the +vision disappeared, but then he heard voices. They shouted and shrieked +around him. They laughed. Derision was showered upon him. Worst and +loudest were the shrill voices of children. One word, one name came over +and over again: it was shouted, shrieked, whispered, wheezed into his +ear--'The Goat! the Goat!' And that all meant him, Gunnar Hede. All that +he had lived in. He felt in full consciousness the same unspeakable fear +he had suffered whilst out of his mind. But now it was not fear for +anything outside himself--now he was afraid of himself. + +'It was I! it was I!' he said, wringing his hands. The next moment he +was kneeling against a low seat. He laid his head down and cried, cried: +'It was I!' He moaned and sobbed. 'It was I!' How could he have courage +to bear this thought--a madman, scorned and laughed at by all? 'Ah! let +me go mad again!' he said, hitting the seat with his fist. 'This is more +than a human being can bear.' + +He held his breath a moment. The darkness came towards him as the +saviour he invoked. It came gliding towards him like a mist. A smile +passed over his lips. He could feel the muscles of his face relax, feel +that he again had the look of a madman. But that was better. The other +he could not bear. To be pointed at, jeered at, scorned, mad! No, it was +better to be so again and not to know it. Why should he come back to +life? Everyone must loathe him. The first light, fleeting clouds of the +great darkness began to enwrap him. + +Ingrid stood there, seeing and hearing all his anguish, not knowing but +that all would soon be lost again. She saw clearly that madness was +again about to seize him. She was so frightened, so frightened, all her +courage had gone. But before he again lost his senses, and became so +scared that he allowed no one to come near him, she would at least take +leave of him and of all her happiness. + +Gunnar Hede felt that Ingrid came and knelt down beside him, laid her +arm round his neck, put her cheek to his, and kissed him. She did not +think herself too good to come near him, the madman, did not think +herself too good to kiss him. + +There was a faint hissing in the darkness. The mist lifted, and it was +as if serpents had raised their heads against him, and now wheezed with +anger that they could not reach to sting him. + +'Do not be so unhappy,' Ingrid said. 'Do not be so unhappy. No one +thinks of the past, if you will only get well.' + +'I want to be mad again,' he said. 'I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to +think how I have been.' + +'Yes, you can,' said Ingrid. + +'No; that no one can forget,' he moaned. 'I was so dreadful! No one can +love me.' + +'I love you,' she said. + +He looked up doubtfully. + +'You kissed me in order that I should not go out of my mind again. You +pity me.' + +'I will kiss you again,' she said. + +'You say that now because you think I am in need of hearing it.' + +'Are you in need of hearing that someone loves you?' + +'If I am--if I am? Ah, child,' he said, and tore himself away from her, +'how can I possibly bear it, when I know that everyone who sees me +thinks: "That fellow has been mad; he has gone about curtsying for dogs +and cats."' + +Then he began again. He lay crying with his face in his hands. + +'It is better to go out of one's mind again. I can hear them shouting +after me, and I see myself, and the anguish, the anguish, the +anguish----' + +But then Ingrid's patience came to an end. + +'Yes, that is right,' she cried; 'go out of your mind again. I call that +manly to go mad in order to escape a little anguish.' + +She sat biting her lips, struggling with her tears, and as she could +not get the words out quickly enough, she seized him by the shoulder and +shook him. She was enraged and quite beside herself with anger because +he would again escape her, because he did not struggle and fight. + +'What do you care about me? What do you care about your mother? You go +mad, and then you will have peace.' She shook him again by the arm. 'To +be saved from anguish, you say, but you don't care about one who has +been waiting for you all her life. If you had any thought for anyone but +yourself, you would fight against this and get well; but you have no +thought for others. You can come so touchingly in visions and dreams and +beg for help, but in reality you will not have any help. You imagine +that your sufferings are greater than anyone else's, but there are +others who have suffered more than you.' + +At last Gunnar Hede raised his eyes, and looked her straight in the +face. She was anything but beautiful at this moment. Tears were +streaming down her cheeks, and her lips trembled, whilst she tried to +get out the words between her sobs. But in his eyes her emotion only +made her more beautiful. A wonderful peace came over him, and a great +and humble thankfulness. Something great and wonderful had come to him +in his deepest humiliation. It must be a great love--a great love. + +He had sat bemoaning his wretchedness, and Love came and knocked at his +door. He would not merely be tolerated when he came back to life; +people would not only with difficulty refrain from laughing at him. + +There was one who loved him and longed for him. She spoke hardly to him, +but he heard love trembling in every single word. He felt as if she were +offering him thrones and kingdoms. She told him that whilst he had been +out of his mind he had saved her life. He had awakened her from the +dead, had helped her, protected her. But this was not enough for her; +she would possess him altogether. + +When she kissed him he had felt a life-giving balm enter his sick soul, +but he had hardly dared to think that it was love that made her. But he +could not doubt her anger and her tears. He was beloved--he, poor +wretched creature! he who had been held in derision by everybody! and +before the great and humble bliss which now filled Gunnar Hede vanished +the last darkness. It was drawn aside like a heavy curtain, and he saw +plainly before him the region of terror through which he had wandered. +But there, too, he had met Ingrid; there he had lifted her from the +grave; there he had played for her at the hut in the forest; there she +had striven to heal him. + +But only the memory of her came back: the feelings with which she had +formerly inspired him now awoke. Love filled his whole being; he felt +the same burning longing that he had felt in the churchyard at Raglanda +when she was taken from him. + +In that region of terror, in that great desert, there had at any rate +grown one flower that had comforted him with fragrance and beauty, and +now he felt that love would dwell with him forever. The wild flower of +the desert had been transplanted into the garden of life, and had taken +root and grown and thriven, and when he felt this he knew he was saved; +he knew that the darkness had found its master. + +Ingrid was silent. She was tired, as one is tired after hard work; but +she was also content, for she felt she had carried out her work in the +best possible manner. She knew she had conquered. + +At last Gunnar Hede broke the silence. + +'I promise you that I will not give in,' he said. + +'Thank you,' Ingrid answered. + +Nothing more was said. + +Gunnar Hede thought he would never be able to tell her how much he loved +her. It could never be told in words, only shown every day and every +hour of his life. + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + II + + _Queens at_ KUNGAH[:A]LLA + + + + +_Queens at_ KUNGAH[:A]LLA + +_On the_ SITE _of the Great_ KUNGAH[:A]LLA + + +Should a stranger who had heard about the old city of Kungah[:a]lla ever +visit the site on the northern river where it once lay, he would +assuredly be much surprised. He would ask himself whether churches and +fortifications could melt away like snow, or if the earth had opened and +swallowed them up. He stands on a spot where formerly there was a mighty +city, and he cannot find a street or a landing-stage. He sees neither +ruins nor traces of devastating fires; he only sees a country seat, +surrounded by green trees and red outbuildings. He sees nothing but +broad meadows and fields, where the plough does its work year after year +without being hindered either by brick foundations or old pavements. + +He would probably first of all go down to the river. He would not expect +to see anything of the great ships that went to the Baltic ports or to +distant Spain, but he would in all likelihood think that he might find +traces of the old ship-yards, of the large boat-houses and +landing-stages. He presumes that he will find some of the old kilns +where they used to refine salt; he will see the worn-out pavement on the +main street that led to the harbour. He will inquire about the German +pier and the Swedish pier; he would like to see the Weeping Bridge where +the women of Kungah[:a]lla took leave of their husbands and sons when they +went to distant lands, but when he comes down to the river's edge he +sees nothing but a forest of waving reeds. He sees a road full of holes +leading down to the ferry; he sees a couple of common barges and a +little flat-bottomed ferryboat that is taking a peasant cart over to +Hisingen, but no big ships come gliding up the river. He does not even +see any dark hulls lying and rotting at the bottom of the river. + +As he does not find anything remarkable down at the harbour, he will +probably begin to look for the celebrated Convent Hill. He expects to +see traces of the palisading and ramparts which in olden days surrounded +it. He is hoping to see the ruins of the high walls and the long +cloisters. He says to himself that anyhow there must be ruins of that +magnificent church where the cross was kept--that miracle-working cross +which had been brought from Jerusalem. He thinks of the number of +monuments covering the holy hills which rise over other ancient cities, +and his heart begins to beat with glad expectation. But when he comes to +the old Convent Hill which rises above the fields, he finds nothing but +clusters of murmuring trees; he finds neither walls, nor towers, nor +gables perforated with pointed arched windows. Garden seats and benches +he will find under the shadow of the trees, but no cloisters decorated +with pillars, no hewn gravestones. + +Well, if he has not found anything here, he will in any case try to +find the old King's Hall. He thinks about the large halls from which +Kungah[:a]lla is supposed to have derived its name. It might be that there +was something left of the timber--a yard thick--that formed the walls, +or of the deep cellars under the great hall where the Norwegian kings +celebrated their banquets. He thinks of the smooth green courtyard of +the King's Hall, where the kings used to ride their silver-shod +chargers, and where the queens used to milk the golden-horned cows. He +thinks of the lofty ladies' bower; of the brewing-room, with its large +boilers; of the huge kitchen, where half an ox at a time was placed in +the pot, and where a whole hog was roasted on the spit. He thinks of the +serfs' house, of the falcon's cages, of the great pantries--house by +house all round the courtyard, moss-grown with age, decorated with +dragons' heads. Of such a number of buildings there must be some traces +left, he thinks. + +But should he then inquire for the old King's Hall, he will be taken to +a modern country-house, with glass veranda and conservatories. The +King's seat has vanished, and with it all the drinking-horns, inlaid +with silver, and the shields, covered with skin. One cannot even show +him the well-kept courtyard, with its short, close grass, and with +narrow paths of black earth. He sees strawberry-beds and hedges of +rose-trees; he sees happy children and young girls dancing under apple +and pear trees. But he does not see strong men wrestling, or knights +playing at ball. + +Perhaps he asks about the great oak on the Market Place, beneath which +the Kings sat in judgment, and where the twelve stones of judgment were +set up. Or about the long street, which was said to be seven miles long! +Or about the rich merchants' houses, separated by dark lanes, each +having its own landing-stage and boathouse down by the river. Or about +the Marie Church in the Market Place, where the seamen brought their +offerings of small, full-rigged ships, and the sorrowful, small silver +hearts. + +But there is nothing left to show him of all these things. Cows and +sheep graze where the long street used to be. Rye and barley grow on the +Market Place, and stables and barns stand where people used to flock +round the tempting market-stalls. + +How can he help feeling disappointed? Is there not a single thing to be +found, he says, not a single relic left? And he thinks perhaps that they +have been deceiving him. The great Kungah[:a]lla can never have stood +here, he says. It must have stood in some other place. + +Then they take him down to the riverside, and show him a roughly-hewn +stone block, and they scrape away the silver-gray lichen, so that he can +see there are some figures hewn in the stone. He will not be able to +understand what they represent; they will be as incomprehensible to him +as the spots in the moon. But they will assure him that they represent a +ship and an elk, and that they were cut in the stone in the olden days +to commemorate the foundation of the city. + +And should he still not be able to understand, they will tell him what +is the meaning of the inscription on the stone. + + + + +_The Forest_ QUEEN + + +Marcus Antonius Poppius was a Roman merchant of high standing. He traded +with distant lands; and from the harbour at Ostia he sent well-equipped +triremas to Spain, to Britain, and even to the north coast of Germany. +Fortune favoured him, and he amassed immense riches, which he hoped to +leave as an inheritance to his only son. Unfortunately, this only son +had not inherited his father's ability. This happens, unfortunately, all +the world over. A rich man's only son. Need one say more? It is, and +always will be, the same story. + +One would almost think that the gods give rich men these incorrigible +idlers, these dull, pale, languid fools of sons, to show man what +unutterable folly it is to amass riches. When will the eyes of mankind +be opened? When will men listen to the warning voice of the gods? + +Young Silvius Antonius Poppius, at the age of twenty, had already tried +all the pleasures of life. He was also fond of letting people see that +he was tired of them; but in spite of that, one did not notice any +diminution in the eagerness with which he sought them. On the contrary, +he was quite in despair when a singularly persistent ill-luck began to +pursue him, and to interfere with all his pleasures. His Numidian horses +fell lame the day before the great chariot race of the year; his +illicit love affairs were found out; his cleverest cook died from +malaria. This was more than enough to crush a man whose strength had not +been hardened by exertion and toil. Young Poppius felt so unhappy that +he made up his mind to take his own life. He seemed to think that this +was the only way in which he could cheat the God of Misfortune who +pursued him and made his life a burden. + +One can understand that an unhappy creature commits suicide in order to +escape the persecution of man; but only a fool like Silvius Antonius +could think of adopting such means to flee from the gods. One recalls +involuntarily the story of the man who, to escape from the lion, sprang +right into its open jaws. + +Young Silvius was much too effeminate to choose a bloody death. Neither +had he any inclination to die from a painful poison. After careful +consideration, he resolved to die the gentle death of the waves. + +But when he went down to the Tiber to drown himself he could not make up +his mind to give his body to the dirty, sluggish water of the river. For +a long time he stood undecided, staring into the stream. Then he was +seized by the magic charm which lies dreamily over a river. He felt that +great, holy longing which fills these never-resting wanderers of nature; +he would see the sea. + +'I will die in the clear blue sea, through which the sun's rays +penetrate right to the bottom,' said Silvius Antonius. 'My body shall +rest upon a couch of pink coral. The foamy waves which I set in motion +when I sink into the deep shall be snow-white and fresh; they shall not +be like the sooty froth which lies quivering at the river-side.' + +He immediately hurried home, had his horses harnessed and drove to +Ostia. He knew that one of his father's ships was lying in the harbour +ready to sail. Young Poppius drove his horses at a furious pace, and he +succeeded in getting on board just as the anchor was being weighed. Of +course he did not think it necessary to take any baggage with him. He +did not even trouble to ask the skipper for what place the craft was +bound. To the sea they were going, in any case--that was enough for him. + +Nor was it very long before the young suicide reached the goal of his +desire. The trirema passed the mouth of the Tiber, and the Mediterranean +lay before Silvius Antonius, its sparkling waves bathed in sun. Its +beauty made Silvius Antonius believe in the poet's assertion that the +swelling ocean is but a thin veil which covers the most beautiful world. +He felt bound to believe that he who boldly makes his way through this +cover will immediately reach the sea-god's palace of pearls. The young +man congratulated himself that he had chosen this manner of death. And +one could scarcely call it that; it was impossible to believe that this +beautiful water could kill. It was only the shortest road to a land +where pleasure is not a delusion, leaving nothing but distaste and +loathing. He could only with difficulty suppress his eagerness. But the +whole deck was full of sailors. Even Silvius could understand that if he +now sprang into the sea the consequence would simply be that one of his +father's sailors would quickly spring overboard and fish him out. + +As soon as the sails were set and the oarsmen were well in swing, the +skipper came up to him and saluted him with the greatest politeness. + +'You intend, then, to go with me to Germany, my Silvius?' he said. 'You +do me great honour.' + +Young Poppius suddenly remembered that this man used never to return +from a voyage without bringing him some curious thing or other from the +barbarous countries he had visited. Sometimes it was a couple of pieces +of wood with which the savages made fire; sometimes it was the black +horn of an ox, which they used as a drinking-vessel; sometimes a +necklace of bear's teeth, which had been a great chief's mark of +distinction. + +The good man beamed with joy at having his master's son on board his +ship. He saw in it a new proof of the wisdom of old Poppius, in sending +his son to distant lands, instead of letting him waste more time amongst +the effeminate young Roman idlers. + +Young Poppius did not wish to undeceive him. He was afraid that if he +disclosed his intention the skipper would at once turn back with him. + +'Verily, Galenus,' he said, 'I would gladly accompany you on this +voyage, but I fear I must ask you to put me ashore at Baj[ae]. I made up +my mind too late. I have neither clothes nor money.' + +But Galenus assured him that that need was soon remedied. Was he not +upon his father's well-appointed vessel? He should not want for +anything--neither warm fur tunic when the weather was cold, or light +Syrian clothing of the kind that seamen wear when they cruise in fair +weather in the friendly seas between the islands. + + * * * * * + +Three months after their departure from Ostia, Galenus's trirema rowed +in amongst a cluster of rocky islands. Neither the skipper nor any of +his crew were quite clear as to where they really were, but they were +glad to take shelter for a time from the storms that raged on the open +sea. + +One could almost think that Silvius Antonius was right in his belief +that some deity persecuted him. No one on the ship had ever before +experienced such a voyage. The luckless sailors said to each other that +they had not had fair weather for two days since they left Ostia. The +one storm had followed upon the other. They had undergone the most +terrible sufferings. They had suffered hunger and thirst, whilst they, +day and night, exhausted and almost fainting from want of sleep, had had +to manage sails and oars. The fact of the seamen being unable to trade +had added to their despondency. How could they approach the coast and +display their wares on the shore to effect an exchange in such weather? +On the contrary, every time they saw the coast appear through the +obstinate heavy mist that surrounded them, they had been compelled to +put out to sea again for fear of the foam-decked rocks. One night, when +they struck on a rock, they had been obliged to throw the half of their +cargo into the sea. And as for the other half, they dared not think +about it, as they feared it was completely spoiled by the breakers +which had rolled over the ship. + +Certain it was that Silvius Antonius had proved himself not to be lucky +at sea either. Silvius Antonius was still living; he had not drowned +himself. It is difficult to say why he prolonged an existence which +could not be of any more pleasure to him now than when he first made up +his mind to cut it short. Perhaps he had hoped that the sea would have +taken possession of him without he himself doing anything to bring it +about. Perhaps his love for the sea had passed away during its bursts of +anger; perhaps he had resolved to die in the opal-green perfumed water +of his bath. + +But had Galenus and his men known why the young man had come on board, +they would assuredly have bitterly complained that he had not carried +out his intention, for they were all convinced that it was his presence +which had called forth their misfortunes. Many a dark night Galenus had +feared that the sailors would throw him into the sea. More than one of +them related that in the terrible stormy nights he had seen dark hands +stretching out of the water, grasping after the ship. And they did not +think it was necessary to cast lots to find out who it was that these +hands wanted to draw down into the deep. Both the skipper and the crew +did Silvius Antonius the special honour to think that it was for his +sake these storms rent the air and scourged the sea. + +If Silvius during this time had behaved like a man, if he had taken his +share of their work and anxiety, then perhaps some of his companions +might have had pity upon him as a being who had brought upon himself the +wrath of the gods. But the young man had not understood how to win their +sympathy. He had only thought of seeking shelter for himself from the +wind, and of sending them to fetch furs and rugs from the stores for his +protection from the cold. + +But for the moment all complaints over his presence had ceased. As soon +as the storm had succeeded in driving the trirema into the quiet waters +between the islands, its rage was spent. It behaved like a sheep-dog +that becomes silent and keeps quiet as soon as it sees the sheep on the +right way to the fold. The heavy clouds disappeared from the sky; the +sun shone. For the first time during the voyage the sailors felt the +joys of summer spreading over Nature. + +Upon these storm-beaten men the sunshine and the warmth had almost an +intoxicating effect. Instead of longing for rest and sleep, they became +as merry as happy children in the morning. They expected they would find +a large continent behind all these rocks and boulders. They hoped to +find people, and--who could tell?--on this foreign coast, which had +probably never before been visited by a Roman ship, their wares would no +doubt find a ready sale. In that case they might after all do some good +business, and bring back with them skins of bear and elk, and large +quantities of white wax and golden amber. + +Whilst the trirema slowly made its way between the rocks, which grew +higher and higher and richer with verdure and trees, the crew made haste +to decorate it so that it could attract the attention of the +barbarians. The ship, which, even without any decoration, was a +beautiful specimen of human handiwork, soon rivalled in splendour the +most gorgeous bird. Recently tossed about by storms and ravaged by +tempests, it now bore on its topmast a golden sceptre and sails striped +with purple. In the bows a resplendent figure of Neptune was raised, and +in the stern a tent of many-coloured silken carpets. And do not think +the sailors neglected to hang the sides of the ship with rugs, the +fringes of which trailed in the water, or to wind the long oars of the +ship with golden ribbons. Neither did the crew of the ship wear the +clothes they had worn during the voyage, and which the sea and the storm +had done their best to destroy. They arrayed themselves in white +garments, wound purple scarves round their waists, and placed glittering +bands in their hair. + +Even Silvius Antonius roused himself from his apathy. It was as if he +was glad of having at last found something to do which he thoroughly +understood. He was shaved, had his hair trimmed, and his whole person +rubbed over with fragrant scents. Then he put on a flowing robe, hung a +mantle over his shoulders, and chose from the large casket of jewels +which Galenus opened for him rings and bracelets, necklaces, and a +golden belt. When he was ready he flung aside the purple curtains of the +silken tent, and laid himself on a couch in the opening of the tent in +order to be seen by the people on the shore. + +During these preparations the sea became narrower and narrower, and the +sailors discovered that they were entering the mouth of a river. The +water was fresh, and there was land on both sides. The trirema glided +slowly onwards up the sparkling river. The weather was brilliant, and +the whole of nature was gloriously peaceful. And how the magnificent +merchantman enlivened the great solitude! + +On both sides of the river primeval forests, high and thick, met their +view. Pine-trees grew right to the water's edge. The river in its +eternal course had washed away the earth from the roots, and the hearts +of the seamen were moved with solemn awe at the sight, not only of these +venerable trees, but even more by that of the naked roots, which +resembled the mighty limbs of a giant. 'Here,' they thought, 'man will +never succeed in planting corn; here the ground will never be cleared +for the building of a city, or even a farmstead. For miles round the +earth is woven through with this network of roots, hard as steel. This +alone is sufficient to make the dominion of the forest everlasting and +unchangeable.' + +Along the river the trees grew so close, and their branches were so +entangled, that they formed firm, impenetrable walls. These walls of +prickly firs were so strong and high that no fortified city need wish +for stronger defences. But here and there there was, all the same, an +opening in this wall of firs. It was the paths the wild beasts had made +on their way to the river to drink. Through these openings the strangers +could obtain a glimpse of the interior of the forest. They had never +seen anything like it. In sunless twilight there grew trees with trunks +of greater circumference than the gate-towers on the walls of Rome. +There was a multitude of trees, fighting with each other for light and +air. Trees strove and struggled, trees were crippled and weighed down by +other trees. Trees took root in the branches of other trees. Trees +strove and fought as if they had been human beings. + +But if man or beast moved in this world of trees they must have other +modes of making their way than those which the Romans knew, for from the +ground right up to the top of the forest was a network of stiff bare +branches. From these branches fluttered long tangles of gray lichen, +transforming the trees into weird beings with hair and beard. And +beneath them the ground was covered with rotten and rotting trunks, and +one's feet would have sunk into the decayed wood as into melting snow. + +The forest sent forth a fragrance which had a drowsy effect upon the men +on board the ship. It was the strong odour of resin and wild honey that +blended with the sickly smell from the decayed wood, and from +innumerable gigantic red and yellow mushrooms. + +There was no doubt something awe-inspiring in all this, but it was also +elevating to see nature in all its power before man had yet interfered +with its dominion. It was not long before one of the sailors began to +sing a hymn to the God of the Forest, and involuntarily the whole crew +joined in. They had quite given up all thought of meeting human beings +in this forest-world. Their hearts were filled with pious thoughts; +they thought of the forest god and his nymphs. They said to themselves +that when Pan was driven from the woods of Hellas he must have taken +refuge here in the far north. With pious songs they entered his kingdom. + +Every time there was a pause in the song they heard a gentle music from +the forest. The tops of the fir-trees, vibrating in the noonday heat, +sang and played. The sailors often discontinued their song in order to +listen, if Pan was not playing upon his flute. + +The oarsmen rowed slower and slower. The sailors gazed searchingly into +the golden-green and black-violet water flowing under the fir-trees. +They peered between the tall reeds which quivered and rustled in the +wash of the ship. They were in such a state of expectation that they +started at the sight of the white water-lilies that shone in the dark +water between the reeds. + +And again they sang the song, 'Pan, thou ruler of the forest!' They had +given up all thoughts of trading. They felt that they stood at the +entrance to the dwelling of the gods. All earthly cares had left them. +Then, all of a sudden, at the outlet of one of the tracks, there stood +an elk, a royal deer with broad forehead and a forest of antlers on its +horns. + +There was a breathless silence on the trirema. They stemmed the oars to +slacken speed. Silvius Antonius arose from his purple couch. + +All eyes were fixed upon the elk. They thought they could discern that +it carried something on its back, but the darkness of the forest and +the drooping branches made it impossible to see distinctly. + +The huge animal stood for a long time and scented the air, with its +muzzle turned towards the trirema. At last it seemed to understand that +there was no danger. It made a step towards the water. Behind the broad +horns one could now discern more distinctly something light and white. +They wondered if the elk carried on its back a harvest of wild roses. + +The crew gently plied their oars. The trirema drew nearer to the animal, +which gradually moved towards the edge of the reeds. + +The elk strode slowly into the water, put down its feet carefully, so as +not to be caught by the roots at the bottom. Behind the horns one could +now distinctly see the face of a maiden, surrounded by fair hair. The +elk carried on its back one of those nymphs whom they had been +expectantly awaiting, and whom they felt sure would be found in this +primeval world. + +A holy enthusiasm filled the men on the trirema. One of them, who hailed +from Sicily, remembered a song which he had heard in his youth, when he +played on the flowery plains around Syracuse. He began to sing softly: + + 'Nymph, amongst flowers born, Arethusa by name, + Thou who in sheltered wood wanders, white like the moon.' + +And when the weather-beaten men understood the words, they tried to +subdue the storm-like roar in their voices in order to sing: + + 'Nymph, amongst flowers born, Arethusa by name.' + +They steered the ship nearer and nearer the reeds. They did not heed +that it had already once or twice touched the bottom. + +But the young forest maiden sat and played hide-and-seek between the +horns. One moment she hid herself, the next she peeped out. She did not +stop the elk; she drove it further into the river. + +When the elk had gone some little distance, she stroked it to make it +stop. Then she bent down and gathered two or three water-lilies. The men +on the ship looked a little foolishly at each other. The nymph had, +then, come solely for the purpose of plucking the white water-lilies +that rocked on the waters of the river. She had not come for the sake of +the Roman seamen. + +Then Silvius Antonius drew a ring from off his finger, sent up a shout +that made the nymph look up, and threw her the ring. She stretched out +her hand and caught it. Her eyes sparkled. She stretched out her hands +for more. Silvius Antonius again threw a ring. + +Then she flung the water-lilies back into the river and drove the elk +further into the water. Now and again she stopped, but then a ring came +flying from Silvius Antonius, and enticed her further. + +All at once she overcame her hesitation. The colour rose in her cheeks. +She came nearer to the ship without it being necessary to tempt her. The +water was already up to the shoulders of the elk. She came right under +the side of the vessel. + +The sailors hung over the gunwales to help the beautiful nymph, should +she wish to go on board the trirema. + +But she saw only Silvius Antonius, as he stood there, decked with pearls +and rings, and fair as the sunrise. And when the young Roman saw that +the eyes of the nymph were fastened upon him, he leant over even further +than the others. They cried to him that he should take care, lest he +should lose his balance and fall into the sea. But this warning came too +late. It is not known whether the nymph, with a quick movement, drew +Silvius Antonius to her, or how it really happened, but before anyone +thought of grasping him, he was overboard. + +All the same, there was no danger of Silvius Antonius drowning. The +nymph stretched forth her lovely arms and caught him in them. He hardly +touched the surface of the water. At the same moment her steed turned, +rushed through the water, and disappeared in the forest. And loudly rang +the laugh of the wild rider as she carried off Silvius Antonius. + +Galenus and his men stood for a moment horror-stricken. Then some of the +men involuntarily threw off their clothes to swim to the shore; but +Galenus stopped them. + +'Without doubt this is the will of the gods,' he said. 'Now we see the +reason why they have brought Silvius Antonius Poppius through a thousand +storms to this unknown land. Let us be glad that we have been an +instrument in their hands; and let us not seek to hinder their will.' + +The seamen obediently took their oars and rowed down the river, softly +singing to their even stroke the song of Arethusa's flight. + + * * * * * + +When one has finished this story, surely the stranger must be able to +understand the inscription on the old stone. He must be able to see both +the elk with its many-antlered horns, and the trirema with its long +oars. One does not expect that he shall be able to see Silvius Antonius +Poppius and the beautiful queen of the primeval forest, for in order to +see them he must have the eyes of the relaters of fairy-tales of bygone +days. He will understand that the inscription hales from the young Roman +himself, and that this also applies to the whole of the old story. +Silvius Antonius has handed it down to his descendants word for word. He +knew that it would gladden their hearts to know that they sprang from +the world-famed Romans. + +But the stranger, of course, need not believe that any of Pan's nymphs +have wandered here by the river's side. He understands quite well that a +tribe of wild men have wandered about in the primeval forest, and that +the rider of the elk was the daughter of the King who ruled over these +people; and that the maiden who carried off Silvius Antonius would only +rob him of his jewels, and that she did not at all think of Silvius +Antonius himself, scarcely knew, perhaps, that he was a human being like +herself. And the stranger can also understand that the name of Silvius +Antonius would have been forgotten long ago in this country had he +remained the fool he was. He will hear how misfortune and want roused +the young Roman, so that from being the despised slave of the wild men +he became their King. It was he who attacked the forest with fire and +steel. He erected the first firmly-timbered house. He built vessels and +planted corn. He laid the foundation of the power and glory of great +Kungah[:a]lla. + +And when the stranger hears this, he looks around the country with a +more contented glance than before. For even if the site of the city has +been turned into fields and meadows, and even if the river no longer +boasts of busy craft, still, this is the ground that has enabled him to +breathe the air of the land of dreams, and shown him visions of bygone +days. + + + + +SIGRID STORR[:A]DE + + +Once upon a time there was an exceedingly beautiful spring. It was the +very spring that the Swedish Queen Sigrid Storr[:a]de summoned the +Norwegian King Olaf Trygveson to meet her at Kungah[:a]lla in order to +settle about their marriage. + +It was strange that King Olaf would marry Queen Sigrid; for although she +was fair and well-gifted, she was a wicked heathen, whilst King Olaf was +a Christian, who thought of nothing but building churches and compelling +the people to be baptized. But maybe the King thought that God the +Almighty would convert her. + +But it was even more strange that when Storr[:a]de had announced to King +Olaf's messenger that she would set out for Kungah[:a]lla as soon as the +sea was no longer ice-bound, spring should come almost immediately. Cold +and snow disappeared at the time when winter is usually at its height. +And when Storr[:a]de made known that she would begin to equip her ships, +the ice vanished from the fjords, the meadows became green, and although +it was yet a long time to Lady-day, the cattle could already be put out +to grass. + +When the Queen rowed between the rocks of East Gothland into the Baltic, +she heard the cuckoo's song, although it was so early in the year that +one could scarcely expect to hear the lark. + +And great joy prevailed everywhere when Storr[:a]de proceeded on her way. +All the trolls who had been obliged to flee from Norway during King +Olaf's reign because they could not bear the sound of the church bells +came on the rocks when they saw Storr[:a]de sailing past. They pulled up +young birch-trees by the roots and waved them to the Queen, and then +they went back to their rocky dwellings, where their wives were sitting, +full of longing and anxiety, and said: + +'Woman, thou shalt not be cast down any longer. Storr[:a]de is now sailing +to King Olaf. Now we shall soon return to Norway.' + +When the Queen sailed past Kullen, the Kulla troll came out of his cave, +and he made the black mountain open, so that she saw the gold and silver +veins which twisted through it, and it made the Queen happy to see his +riches. + +When Storr[:a]de went past the Holland rivers, the Nixie came down from +his waterfall, swam right out to the mouth of the river, and played upon +his harp, so that the ship danced upon the waves. + +When she sailed past the Nidinge rocks, the mermen lay there and blew +upon their seashell horns, and made the water splash in frothy pillars. +And when the wind was against them, the most loathsome trolls came out +of the deep to help Storr[:a]de's ship over the waves. Some lay at the +stern and pushed, others took ropes of seaweed in their mouth and +harnessed themselves before the ship like horses. + +The wild heathen, whom King Olaf would not allow to remain in the +country on account of their great wickedness, came rowing towards the +Queen's ship, with sails furled, and with their pole-axes raised as if +for attack. But when they recognised the Queen, they allowed her to pass +unhurt, and shouted after her: + +'We empty a beaker to thy wedding, Storr[:a]de.' + +All the heathen who lived along the coast laid firewood upon their stone +altars, and sacrificed both sheep and goats to the old gods, in order +that they should aid Storr[:a]de in her expedition to the Norwegian King. + +When the Queen sailed up the northern river, a mermaid swam alongside +the ship, stretched her white arm out of the water, and gave her a large +clear pearl. + +'Wear this, Storr[:a]de,' she said; 'then King Olaf will be so bewitched by +thy beauty that he will never be able to forget thee.' + +When the Queen had sailed a short distance up the river, she heard such +a roar and such a rushing noise that she expected to find a waterfall. +The further she proceeded, the louder grew the noise. But when she rowed +past the Golden Isle, and passed into a broad bay, she saw at the +riverside the great Kungah[:a]lla. + +The town was so large, that as far as she could see up the river there +was house after house, all imposing and well timbered, with many +outhouses. Narrow lanes between the gray wooden walls led down to the +river; there were large courtyards before the dwelling-houses, +well-laid pathways went from each house down to its boathouse and +landing-stage. + +Storr[:a]de commanded her men to row quite slowly. She herself stood on the +poop of the ship and looked towards the shore. + +'Never before have I seen the like of this,' she said. + +She now understood that the roar she had heard was nothing but the noise +of the work which went on at Kungah[:a]lla in the spring, when the ships +were being made ready for their long cruises. She heard the smiths +hammering with huge sledge-hammers, the baker's shovel clattered in the +ovens; beams were hoisted on to heavy lighters with much crashing noise; +young men planed oars and stripped the bark from the trees which were to +be used for masts. + +She saw green courtyards, where handmaidens were twining ropes for the +seafaring men, and where old men sat mending the gray wadmal sails. She +saw the boat-builders tarring the new boats. Enormous nails were driven +into strong oaken planks. The hulls of the ships were hauled out of the +boathouses to be tightened; old ships were done up with freshly-painted +dragon-heads; goods were stowed away; people took a hurried leave of +each other; heavily-filled ships' chests were carried on board. Ships +that were ready to sail left the shore. Storr[:a]de saw that the vessels +rowing up the river were heavily laden with herrings and salt, but those +making for the open sea were laden high up the masts with costly oak +timber, hides, and skins. + +When the Queen saw all this she laughed with joy. She thought that she +would willingly marry King Olaf in order to rule over such a city. +Storr[:a]de rowed up to the King's Landing-Stage. There King Olaf stood +ready to receive her, and when she advanced to meet him he thought that +she was the fairest woman he had ever seen. + +They then proceeded to the King's Hall, and there was great harmony and +friendship between them. When they went to table Storr[:a]de laughed and +talked the whole time the Bishop was saying grace, and the King laughed +and talked also, because he saw that it pleased Storr[:a]de. When the meal +was finished, and they all folded their hands to listen to the Bishop's +prayer, Storr[:a]de began to tell the King about her riches. She continued +doing this as long as the prayer lasted, and the King listened to +Storr[:a]de, and not to the Bishop. + +The King placed Storr[:a]de in the seat of honour, whilst he sat at her +feet; and Storr[:a]de told him how she had caused two minor kings to be +burnt to death for having had the presumption to woo her. The King was +glad at hearing this, and thought that all minor kings who had the +audacity to woo a woman like Storr[:a]de should share the same fate. + +When the bells rang for Evensong, the King rose to go to the Marie +Church to pray, as was his wont. But then Storr[:a]de called for her bard, +and he sang the lay of Brynhild Budles-dotter, who caused Sigurd +Fofnersbane to be slain; and King Olaf did not go to church, but instead +sat and looked into Storr[:a]de's radiant eyes, under the thick, black, +arched eyebrows; and he understood that Storr[:a]de was Brynhild, and that +she would kill him if ever he forsook her. He also thought that she was +no doubt a woman who would be willing to burn on the pile with him. And +whilst the priests were saying Mass and praying in the Marie Church at +Kungah[:a]lla, King Olaf sat thinking that he would ride to Valhalla with +Sigrid Storr[:a]de before him on the horse. + +That night the ferryman who conveyed people over the G[:o]ta River was +busier than he had ever been before. Time after time he was called to +the other side, but when he crossed over there was never anybody to be +seen. But all the same he heard steps around him, and the boat was so +full that it was nearly sinking. He rowed the whole night backwards and +forwards, and did not know what it could all mean. But in the morning +the whole shore was full of small footprints, and in the footprints the +ferryman found small withered leaves, which on closer examination proved +to be pure gold, and he understood they were the Brownies and Dwarfs who +had fled from Norway when it became a Christian country, and who had now +come back again. And the giant who lived in the Fortin mountain right to +the east of Kungah[:a]lla threw one big stone after the other at the Marie +Church the whole night through; and had not the giant been so strong +that all the stones went too far and fell down at Hisingen, on the other +side of the river, a great disaster would assuredly have happened. + +Every morning King Olaf was in the habit of going to Mass, but the day +Storr[:a]de was at Kungah[:a]lla he thought he had not the time. As soon +as he arose, he at once wanted to go down to the harbour, where her ship +lay, in order to ask her if she would drink the wedding-cup with him +before eventide. + +The Bishop had caused the bells to be rung the whole morning, and when +the King left the King's Hall, and went across the Market Place, the +church doors were thrown open, and beautiful singing was heard from +within. But the King went on as if he had not heard anything. The Bishop +ordered the bells to be stopped, the singing ceased, and the candles +were extinguished. + +It all happened so suddenly that the King involuntarily stopped and +looked towards the church, and it seemed to him that the church was more +insignificant than he had ever before thought. It was smaller than the +houses in the town; the peat roof hung heavily over its low walls +without windows; the door was low, with a small projecting roof covered +with fir-bark. + +Whilst the King stood thinking, a slender young woman came out of the +dark church door. She wore a red robe and a blue mantle, and she bore in +her arms a child with fair locks. Her dress was poor, and yet it seemed +to the King that he had never before seen a more noble-looking woman. +She was tall, dignified, and fair of face. + +The King saw with emotion that the young woman pressed the child close +to her, and carried it with such care, that one could see it was the +most precious thing she possessed in the world. + +As the woman stood in the doorway she turned her gentle face round and +looked back, looked into the poor, dark little church with great longing +in look and mien. When she again turned round towards the Market Place +there were tears in her eyes. But just as she was about to step over the +threshold into the Market Place her courage failed her. She leant +against the doorposts and looked at the child with a troubled glance, as +if to say: + +'Where in all the wide world shall we find a roof over our heads?' + +The King stood immovable, and looked at the homeless woman. What touched +him the most was to see the child, who lay in her arms free from sorrow, +stretch out his hand with a flower towards her, as if to win a smile +from her. And then he saw she tried to drive away the sorrow from her +face and smile at her son. + +'Who can that woman be?' thought the King. 'It seems to me that I have +seen her before. She is undoubtedly a high-born woman who is in +trouble.' + +However great a hurry the King was in to go to Storr[:a]de, he could not +take his eyes away from the woman. It seemed to him that he had seen +these tender eyes and this gentle face before, but where, he could not +call to mind. The woman still stood in the church door, as if she could +not tear herself away. Then the King went up to her and asked: + +'Why art thou so sorrowful?' + +'I am turned out of my home,' answered the woman, pointing to the little +dark church. + +The King thought she meant that she had taken refuge in the church +because she had no other place to go to. He again asked: + +'Who hath turned thee out?' + +She looked at him with an unutterably sorrowful glance. + +'Dost thou not know?' she asked. + +But then the King turned away from her. He had no time to stand guessing +riddles, he thought. It appeared as if the woman meant that it was he +who had turned her out. He did not understand what she could mean. + +The King went on quickly. He went down to the King's Landing-Stage, +where Storr[:a]de's ship was lying. At the harbour the Queen's servants met +the King. Their clothes were braided with gold, and they wore silver +helmets on their heads. + +Storr[:a]de stood on her ship looking towards Kungah[:a]lla, rejoicing +in its power and wealth. She looked at the city as if she already +regarded herself as its Queen. But when the King saw Storr[:a]de, he +thought at once of the gentle woman who, poor and sorrowful, had been +turned out of the church. + +'What is this?' he thought. 'It seems to me as if she were fairer than +Storr[:a]de.' + +When Storr[:a]de greeted him with smiles, he thought of the tears that +sparkled in the eyes of the other woman. The face of the strange woman +was so clear to King Olaf that he could not help comparing it, feature +for feature, with Storr[:a]de's. And when he did that all Storr[:a]de's +beauty vanished. He saw that Storr[:a]de's eyes were cruel and her mouth +sensual. In each of her features he saw a sin. He could still see she +was beautiful, but he no longer took pleasure in her countenance. He +began to loathe her as if she were a beautiful poisonous snake. + +When the Queen saw the King come a victorious smile passed over her +lips. + +'I did not expect thee so early, King Olaf,' she said. 'I thought thou +wast at Mass.' + +The King felt an irresistible inclination to contradict Storr[:a]de, and do +everything she did not want. + +'Mass has not yet begun,' he said. 'I have come to ask thee to go with +me to the house of my God.' + +When the King said this he saw an angry look in Storr[:a]de's eyes, but she +continued to smile. + +'Rather come to me on my ship,' she said, 'and I will show thee the +presents I have brought for thee.' + +She took up a sword inlaid with gold, as if to tempt him; but the King +thought all the time that he could see the other woman at her side, and +it appeared to him that Storr[:a]de stood amongst her treasures like a foul +dragon. + +'Answer me first,' said the King, 'if thou wilt go with me to church.' + +'What have I to do in thy church?' she asked mockingly. + +Then she saw that the King's brow darkened, and she perceived that he +was not of the same mind as the day before. She immediately changed her +manner, and became gentle and submissive. + +'Go thou to church as much as thou likest, even if I do not go. There +shall be no discord between us on that account.' + +The Queen came down from the ship and went up to the King. She held in +her hand a sword and a mantle trimmed with fur which she would give him. +But in the same moment the King happened to look towards the harbour. At +some distance he saw the other woman; her head was bowed, and she walked +with weary steps, but she still bore the child in her arms. + +'What art thou looking so eagerly after, King Olaf?' Storr[:a]de asked. + +Then the other woman turned round and looked at the King, and as she +looked at him it appeared to him as if a ring of golden light surrounded +her head and that of the child, more beautiful than the crown of any +King or Queen. Then she immediately turned round and walked again +towards the town, and he saw her no more. + +'What art thou looking so eagerly after?' again asked Storr[:a]de. + +But when King Olaf now turned to the Queen she appeared to him old and +ugly, and full of the world's sin and wickedness, and he was terrified +at the thought that he might have fallen into her snares. + +He had taken off his glove to give her his hand; but he now took the +glove and threw it in her face instead. + +'I will not own thee, foul woman and heathen dog that thou art!' he +said. + +Then Storr[:a]de drew backwards. But she soon regained the command over +herself, and answered: + +'That blow may prove thy destruction, King Olaf Trygveson.' + +And she was white as H['e]l when she turned away from him and went on board +her ship. + + * * * * * + +Next night King Olaf had a strange dream. What he saw in his dream was +not the earth, but the bottom of the sea. It was a grayish-green field, +over which there were many fathoms of water. He saw fish swimming after +their prey; he saw ships gliding past on the surface of the water, like +dark clouds; and he saw the disc of the sun, dull as a pale moon. + +Then he saw the woman he had seen at the church-door wandering along the +bottom of the sea. She had the same stooping gait and the same worn +garments as when he first saw her, and her face was still sorrowful. But +as she wandered along the bottom of the sea the water divided before +her. He saw that it rose into pillars, as if in deep reverence, forming +itself into arches, so that she walked in the most glorious temple. + +Suddenly the King saw that the water which surrounded the woman began to +change colour. The pillars and the arches first became pale pink; but +they soon assumed a darker colour. The whole sea around was also red, as +if it had been changed into blood. + +At the bottom of the sea, where the woman walked, the King saw broken +swords and arrows, and bows and spears in pieces. At first there were +not many, but the longer she walked in the red water the more closely +they were heaped together. + +The King saw with emotion that the woman went to one side in order not +to tread upon a dead man who lay stretched upon the bed of green +seaweed. The man, who had a deep cut in his head, wore a coat of mail, +and had a sword in his hand. It seemed to the King that the woman closed +her eyes so as not to see the dead man. She moved towards a fixed goal +without hesitation or doubt. But he who dreamt could not turn his eyes +away. + +He saw the bottom of the sea covered with wreckage. He saw heavy +anchors, thick ropes twined about like snakes, ships with their sides +riven asunder; golden dragon-heads from the bows of ships stared at him +with red, threatening eyes. + +'I should like to know who has fought a battle here and left all this as +a prey to destruction,' thought the dreamer. + +Everywhere he saw dead men. They were hanging on the ships' sides, or +had sunk into the green seaweed. But he did not give himself time to +look at them, for his eyes were obliged to follow the woman, who +continued to walk onwards. + +At last the King saw her stop at the side of a dead man. He was clothed +in a red mantle, had a bright helmet on his head, a shield on his arm, +and a naked sword in his hand. + +The woman bent over him and whispered to him, as if awaking someone +sleeping: + +'King Olaf! King Olaf!' + +Then he who was dreaming saw that the man at the bottom of the sea was +himself. He could distinctly see that he was the dead man. + +As the dead did not move, the woman knelt by his side and whispered into +his ear: + +'Now Storr[:a]de hath sent her fleet against thee and avenged herself. Dost +thou repent what thou hast done, King Olaf?' + +And again she asked: + +'Now thou sufferest the bitterness of death because thou hast chosen me +instead of Storr[:a]de. Dost thou repent? dost thou repent?' + +Then at last the dead opened his eyes, and the woman helped him to rise. +He leant upon her shoulder, and she walked slowly away with him. + +Again King Olaf saw her wander and wander, through night and day, over +sea and land. At last it seemed to him that they had gone further than +the clouds and higher than the stars. Now they entered a garden, where +the earth shone as light and the flowers were clear as dewdrops. + +The King saw that when the woman entered the garden she raised her head, +and her step grew lighter. When they had gone a little further into the +garden her garments began to shine. He saw that they became, as of +themselves, bordered with golden braid, and coloured with the hues of +the rainbow. He saw also that a halo surrounded her head that cast a +light over her countenance. + +But the slain man who leant upon her shoulder raised his head, and +asked: + +'Who art thou?' + +'Dost thou not know, King Olaf?' she answered; and an infinite majesty +and glory encompassed her. + +But in the dream King Olaf was filled with a great joy because he had +chosen to serve the gentle Queen of Heaven. It was a joy so great that +he had never before felt the like of it, and it was so strong that it +awoke him. + + * * * * * + +When King Olaf awoke his face was bathed in tears, and he lay with his +hands folded in prayer. + + + + +ASTRID + + +I + +In the midst of the low buildings forming the old Castle of the Kings at +Upsala towered the Ladies' Bower. It was built on poles, like a +dovecote. The staircase leading up to it was as steep as a ladder, and +one entered it by a very low door. The walls inside were covered with +runes, signifying love and longing; the sills of the small loopholes +were worn by the maidens leaning on their elbows and looking down into +the courtyard. + +Old Hjalte, the bard, had been a guest at the King's Castle for some +time, and he went up every day to the Ladies' Bower to see Princess +Ingegerd, and talk with her about Olaf Haraldsson, the King of Norway, +and every time Hjalte came Ingegerd's bondwoman Astrid sat and listened +to his words with as much pleasure as the Princess. And whilst Hjalte +talked, both the maidens listened so eagerly that they let their hands +fall in their laps and their work rest. + +Anyone seeing them would not think much spinning or weaving could be +done in the Ladies' Bower. No one would have thought that they gathered +all Hjalte's words as if they were silken threads, and that each of his +listeners made from them her own picture of King Olaf. No one could +know that in their thoughts they wove the Bard's words each into her own +radiant picture. + +But so it was. And the Princess's picture was so beautiful that every +time she saw it before her she felt as if she must fall on her knees and +worship it. For she saw the King sitting on his throne, crowned and +great; she saw a red, gold-embroidered mantle hanging from his shoulders +to his feet. She saw no sword in his hand, but holy writings; and she +also saw that his throne was supported by a chained troll. His face +shone for her, white like wax, surrounded by long, soft locks, and his +eyes beamed with piety and peace. Oh, she became nearly afraid when she +saw the almost superhuman strength that shone from that pale face. She +understood that King Olaf was not only a King, she saw that he was a +saint, and the equal of the angels. + +But quite different was the picture which Astrid had made of the King. +The fair-haired bondwoman, who had experienced both hunger and cold and +suffered much hardship, but who all the same was the one who filled the +Ladies' Bower with merriment and laughter, had in her mind an entirely +different picture of the King. She could not help that every time she +heard him spoken about she saw before her the wood-cutter's son who at +eventide came out of the wood with the axe over his shoulder. + +'I can see thee--I can see thee so well,' Astrid said to the picture, as +if it were a living being. 'Tall thou art not, but broad of shoulders +and light and agile, and because thou hast walked about in the dark +forest the whole long summer day thou takest the last few steps in one +spring, and laughest when thou reachest the road. Then thy white teeth +shine, and thy hair flies about, and that I love to see. I can see thee; +thou hast a fair, ruddy face and freckles on thy nose, and thou hast +blue eyes, which become dark and stern in the deep forest; but when thou +comest so far that thou seest the valley and thy home, they become light +and gentle. As soon as thou seest thine own hut down in the valley, thou +raisest thy cap for a greeting, and then I see thy forehead. Is not that +forehead befitting a King? Should not that broad forehead be able to +wear both crown and helmet?' + +But however different these two pictures were, one thing is certain: +just as much as the Princess loved the holy picture she had conjured +forth, so did the poor bondwoman love the bold swain whom she saw coming +from the depths of the forest to meet her. + +And had Hjalte the Bard been able to see these pictures he would have +assuredly praised them both. He would assuredly have said that they both +were like the King. For that is King Olaf's good fortune, he would have +been sure to say, that he is a fresh and merry swain at the same time +that he is God's holy warrior. For old Hjalte loved King Olaf, and +although he had wandered from court to court he had never been able to +find his equal. + +'Where can I find anyone to make me forget Olaf Haraldsson?' he was +wont to say. 'Where shall I find a greater hero?' + +Hjalte the Bard was a rough old man and severe of countenance. Old as he +was, his hair was still black, he was dark of complexion, and his eyes +were keen, and his song had always tallied with his appearance. His +tongue never uttered other words than those of strife; he had never made +other lays than songs of war. + +Old Hjalte's heart had hitherto been like the stony waste outside the +wood-cutter's hut; it had been like a rocky plain, where only poor ferns +and dry mugworts could grow. But now Hjalte's roving life had brought +him to the Court at Upsala, and he had seen the Princess Ingegerd. He +had seen that she was the noblest of all the women he had met in his +life--in truth, the Princess was just as much fairer than all other +women as King Olaf was greater than all other men. + +Then the thought suddenly arose within Hjalte that he would try to +awaken love between the Swedish Princess and the Norwegian King. He +asked himself why she, who was the best amongst women, should not be +able to love King Olaf, the most glorious amongst men? And after that +thought had taken root in Hjalte's heart he gave up making his stern +war-songs. He gave up trying to win praise and honour from the rough +warriors at the Court of Upsala, and sat for many hours with the women +in the Ladies' Bower, and one would never have thought that it was +Hjalte who spoke. One would never have believed that he possessed such +soft and fair and gentle words which he now used in speaking about King +Olaf. + +No one would have known Hjalte again; he was entirely transformed ever +since the thought of the marriage had arisen within him. When the +beautiful thought took root in Hjalte's soul, it was as if a blushing +rose, with soft and fragrant petals, had sprung up in the midst of a +wilderness. + + * * * * * + +One day Hjalte sat with the Princess in the Ladies' Bower. All the +maidens were absent except Astrid. Hjalte thought that now he had spoken +long enough about Olaf Haraldsson. He had said all the fair words he +could about him, but had it been of any avail? What did the Princess +think of the King? Then he began to lay snares for the Princess to find +out what she thought of King Olaf. + +'I can see from a look or a blush,' he thought. + +But the Princess was a high-born lady; she knew how to conceal her +thoughts. She neither blushed nor smiled, neither did her eyes betray +her. She would not let Hjalte divine what she thought. + +When the Bard looked into her noble face he was ashamed of himself. + +'She is too good for anyone to take her by stealth,' he said; 'one must +meet her in open warfare.' So Hjalte said straight out: 'Daughter of a +King, if Olaf Haraldsson asked thee in marriage of thy father, what +wouldst thou answer?' + +Then the young Princess's face lit up, as does the face of a man when he +reaches the mountain-top and discovers the ocean. Without hesitation she +replied at once: + +'If he be such a King and such a Christian as thou sayest, Hjalte, then +I consider it would be a great happiness.' + +But scarcely had she said this before the light faded from her eyes. It +was as if a cloud rose between her and the beautiful far-off vision. + +'Oh, Hjalte,' she said, 'thou forgettest one thing. King Olaf is our +enemy. It is war and not wooing we may expect from him.' + +'Do not let that trouble thee,' said Hjalte. 'If thou only wilt, all is +well. I know King Olaf's mind in this matter.' + +The Bard was so glad that he laughed when he said this; but the Princess +grew more and more sorrowful. + +'No,' she said, 'neither upon me nor King Olaf does it depend, but upon +my father, Oluf Sk[:o]tkonung, and you know that he hates Olaf Haraldsson, +and cannot bear that anyone should even mention his name. Never will he +let me leave my father's house with an enemy; never will he give his +daughter to Olaf Haraldsson.' + +When the Princess had said this, she laid aside all her pride and began +to lament her fate. + +'Of what good is it that I have now learnt to know Olaf Haraldsson,' she +said, 'that I dream of him every night, and long for him every day? +Would it not have been better if thou hadst never come hither and told +me about him?' + +When the Princess had spoken these words, her eyes filled with tears; +but when Hjalte saw her tears, he lifted his hand fervent and eager. + +'God wills it,' he cried. 'Ye belong to one another. Strife must +exchange its red mantle for the white robe of peace, that your happiness +may give joy unto the earth.' + +When Hjalte had said this, the Princess bowed her head before God's holy +name, and when she raised it, it was with a newly awakened hope. + + * * * * * + +When old Hjalte stepped through the low door of the Ladies' Bower, and +went down the narrow open corridor, Astrid followed him. + +'Hjalte,' she cried, 'why dost thou not ask me what I would answer if +Olaf Haraldsson asked for my hand?' + +It was the first time Astrid had spoken to Hjalte; but Hjalte only cast +a hurried glance at the fair bondwoman, whose golden hair curled on her +temples and neck, who had the broadest bracelets and the heaviest +ear-rings, whose dress was fastened with silken cords, and whose bodice +was so embroidered with pearls that it was as stiff as armour, and went +on without answering. + +'Why dost thou only ask Princess Ingegerd?' continued Astrid. 'Why dost +thou not also ask me? Dost thou not know that I, too, am the Svea-King's +daughter? Dost thou not know,' she continued, when Hjalte did not +answer, 'that although my mother was a bondwoman, she was the bride of +the King's youth? Dost thou not know that whilst she lived no one dared +to remind her of her birth? Oh, Hjalte, dost thou not know that it was +only after she was dead, when the King had taken to himself a Queen, +that everyone remembered that she was a bondwoman? It was first after I +had a stepmother that the King began to think I was not of free birth. +But am I not a King's daughter, Hjalte, even if my father counts me for +so little, that he has allowed me to fall into bondage? Am I not a +King's daughter, even if my stepmother allowed me to go in rags, whilst +my sister went in cloth of gold? Am I not a King's daughter, even if my +stepmother has allowed me to tend the geese and taste the whip of the +slave? And if I am a King's daughter, why dost thou not ask me whether I +will wed Olaf Haraldsson? See, I have golden hair that shines round my +head like the sun. See, I have sparkling eyes; I have roses in my +cheeks. Why should not King Olaf woo me?' + +She followed Hjalte across the courtyard all the way to the King's Hall; +but Hjalte took no more heed of her words than a warrior clad in armour +heeds a boy throwing stones. He took no more notice of her words than if +she had been a chattering magpie in the top of a tree. + + * * * * * + +No one must think that Hjalte contented himself with having won Ingegerd +for his King. The next day the old Icelander summoned up his courage and +spoke to Oluf Sk[:o]tkonung about Olaf Haraldsson. But he hardly had time +to say a word; the King interrupted him as soon as he mentioned the name +of his foe. Hjalte saw that the Princess was right. He thought he had +never before seen such bitter hatred. + +'But that marriage will take place all the same,' said Hjalte. 'It is +the will of God--the will of God.' + +And it really seemed as if Hjalte were right. Two or three days later a +messenger came from King Olaf of Norway to make peace with the Swedes. +Hjalte sought the messenger, and told him that peace between the two +countries could be most firmly established by a marriage taking place +between Princess Ingegerd and Olaf Haraldsson. + +The King's messenger hardly thought that old Hjalte was the man to +incline a young maiden's heart to a stranger; but he thought, all the +same, that the plan was a good one; and he promised Hjalte that he would +lay the proposal of the marriage before King Oluf Sk[:o]tkonung at the +great Winter Ting. + +Immediately afterwards Hjalte left Upsala. He went from farm to farm on +the great plain; he went far into the forests; he went even to the +borders of the sea. He never met either man or woman without speaking to +them about Olaf Haraldsson and Princess Ingegerd. 'Hast thou ever heard +of a greater man or of a fairer woman?' he said. 'It is assuredly the +will of God that they shall wander through life together.' + +Hjalte came upon old Vikings, who wintered at the seashore, and who had +formerly carried off women from every coast. He talked to them about the +beautiful Princess until they sprang up and promised him, with their +hand on the hilt of their sword, that they would do what they could to +help her to happiness. + +Hjalte went to stubborn old peasants who had never listened to the +prayers of their own daughters, but had given them in marriage as +shrewdness, family honour, and advantage required, and he spoke to them +so wisely about the peace between the two countries and the marriage +that they swore they would rather deprive the King of his kingdom than +that this marriage should not come to pass. + +But to the young women Hjalte spoke so many good words about Olaf +Haraldsson that they vowed they would never look with kindly eyes at the +swain who did not stand by the Norwegian King's messenger at the Ting +and help to break down the King's opposition. + +Thus Hjalte went about talking to people until the Winter Ting should +assemble, and all the people, along snow-covered roads, proceeded to the +great Ting Hills at Upsala. + +When the Ting was opened, the eagerness of the people was so great that +it seemed as if the stars would fall down from the sky were this +marriage not decided upon. And although the King twice roughly said 'No' +both to the peace and to the wooing, it was of no avail. It was of no +avail that he would not hear the name of King Olaf mentioned. The people +only shouted: 'We will not have war with Norway. We will that these two, +who by all are accounted the greatest, shall wander through life +together.' + +What could old Oluf Sk[:o]tkonung do when the people rose against him with +threats, strong words, and clashing of shields? What was he to do when +he saw nothing but swords lifted and angry men before him? Was he not +compelled to promise his daughter away if he would keep his life and his +crown? Must he not swear to send the Princess to Kungah[:a]lla next summer +to meet King Olaf there? + +In this way the whole people helped to further Ingegerd's love. But no +one helped Astrid to the attainment of her happiness; no one asked her +about her love. And yet it lived--it lived like the child of the poor +fisherman's widow, in want and need; but all the same it grew, happily +and hopefully. It grew and thrived, for in Astrid's soul there were, as +at the sea, fresh air and light and breezy waves. + + +II + +In the rich city of Kungah[:a]lla, far away at the border, was the old +castle of the kings. It was surrounded by green ramparts. Huge stones +stood as sentinels outside the gates, and in the courtyard grew an oak +large enough to shelter under its branches all the King's henchmen. + +The whole space inside the ramparts was covered with long, low wooden +houses. They were so old that grass grew on the ridges of the roofs. The +beams in the walls were made from the thickest trees of the forest, +silver-white with age. + +In the beginning of the summer Olaf Haraldsson came to Kungah[:a]lla, and +he gathered together in the castle everything necessary for the +celebration of his marriage. For several weeks peasants came crowding up +the long street, bringing gifts: butter in tubs, cheese in sacks, hops +and salt, roots and flour. + +After the gifts had been brought to the castle, there was a continual +procession of wedding guests through the street. There were great men +and women on side-saddles, with a numerous retinue of servants and +serfs. Then came hosts of players and singers, and the reciters of the +Sagas. Merchants came all the way from Venderland and Gardarike, to +tempt the King with bridal gifts. + +When these processions for two whole weeks had filled the town with +noise and bustle they only awaited the last procession, the bride's. + +But the bridal procession was long in coming. Every day they expected +that she would come ashore at the King's Landing-Stage, and from there, +headed by drum and fife, and followed by merry swains and serious +priests, proceed up the street to the King's Castle. But the bride's +procession came not. + +When the bride was so long in coming, everybody looked at King Olaf to +see if he were uneasy. But the King always showed an undisturbed face. + +'If it be the will of God,' the King said, 'that I shall possess this +fair woman, she will assuredly come.' + +And the King waited, whilst the grass fell for the scythe, and the +cornflowers blossomed in the rye. The King still waited when the flax +was pulled up, and the hops ripened on the poles. He was still waiting, +when the bramble blackened on the mountain-side, and the nip reddened +on the naked branch of the hawthorn. + + * * * * * + +Hjalte had spent the whole summer at Kungah[:a]lla waiting for the +marriage. No one awaited the arrival of the Princess more eagerly than +he did. He assuredly awaited her with greater longing and anxiety than +even King Olaf himself. + +Hjalte no longer felt at his ease with the warriors in the King's Hall. +But lower down the river there was a landing-stage where the women of +Kungah[:a]lla were wont to assemble to see the last of their husbands and +sons, when they sailed for distant lands. Here they were also in the +habit of gathering during the summer, to watch for the vessels coming up +the river, and to weep over those who had departed. To that bridge +Hjalte wended his way every day. He liked best to be amongst those who +longed and sorrowed. + +Never had any of the women who sat waiting at Weeping Bridge gazed down +the river with more anxious look than did Hjalte the Bard. No one looked +more eagerly at every approaching sail. Sometimes Hjalte stole away to +the Marie Church. He never prayed for anything for himself. He only came +to remind the Saints about this marriage, which must come to pass, which +God Himself had willed. + +Most of all Hjalte liked to speak with King Olaf Haraldsson alone. It +was his greatest happiness to sit and tell him of every word that had +fallen from the lips of the King's daughter. He described her every +feature. + +'King Olaf,' he said to him, 'pray to God that she may come to thee. +Every day I see thee warring against ancient heathendom which hides like +an owl in the darkness of the forest, and in the mountain-clefts. But +the falcon, King Olaf, will never be able to overcome the owl. Only a +dove can do that, only a dove.' + +The Bard asked the King whether it was not his desire to vanquish all +his enemies. Was it not his intention to be alone master in the land? +But in that he would never succeed. He would never succeed until he had +won the crown which Hjalte had chosen for him, a crown so resplendent +with brightness and glory that everyone must bow before him who owned +it. + +And last of all he asked the King if he were desirous of gaining the +mastery over himself. But he would never succeed in overcoming the +wilfulness of his own heart if he did not win a shield which Hjalte had +seen in the Ladies' Bower at the King's Castle at Upsala. It was a +shield from which shone the purity of heaven. It was a shield which +protected from all sin and the lusts of the flesh. + + * * * * * + +But harvest came and they were still waiting for the Princess. One after +the other the great men who had come to Kungah[:a]lla for the marriage +festivities were obliged to depart. The last to take his leave was old +Hjalte the Bard. It was with a heavy heart he set sail, but he was +obliged to return to his home in distant Iceland before Christmas came. + +Old Hjalte had not gone further than the rocky islands outside the mouth +of the northern river before he met a galley. He immediately ordered his +men to stop rowing. At the first glance he recognised the dragon-headed +ship belonging to Princess Ingegerd. Without hesitation Hjalte told his +men to row him to the galley. He gave up his place at the rudder to +another, and placed himself with joyous face at the prow of the boat. + +'It will make me happy to behold the fair maiden once more,' the Bard +said. 'It gladdens my heart that her gentle face will be the last I +shall see before sailing for Iceland.' + +All the wrinkles had disappeared from Hjalte's face when he went on +board the dragon-ship. He greeted the brave lads who plied the oars as +friendlily as if they were his comrades, and he handed a golden ring to +the maiden, who, with much deference, conducted him to the women's tent +in the stern of the ship. Hjalte's hand trembled when he lifted the +hangings that covered the entrance to the tent. He thought this was the +most beautiful moment of his life. + +'Never have I fought for a greater cause,' he said. 'Never have I longed +so eagerly for anything as this marriage.' + +But when Hjalte entered the tent, he drew back a step in great +consternation. His face expressed the utmost confusion. He saw a tall, +beautiful woman. She advanced to meet him with outstretched hand. But +the woman was not Ingegerd. + +Hjalte's eyes looked searchingly round the narrow tent to find the +Princess. He certainly saw that the woman who stood before him was a +King's daughter. Only the daughter of a King could look at him with such +a proud glance, and greet him with such dignity. And she wore the band +of royalty on her forehead, and was attired like a Queen. But why was +she not Ingegerd? Hjalte angrily asked the strange woman: + +'Who art thou?' + +'Dost thou not know me, Hjalte? I am the King's daughter, to whom thou +hast spoken about Olaf Haraldsson.' + +'I have spoken with a King's daughter about Olaf Haraldsson, but her +name was Ingegerd.' + +'Ingegerd is also my name.' + +'Thy name can be what thou likest, but thou art not the Princess. What +is the meaning of all this? Will the Svea-King deceive King Olaf?' + +'He will not by any means deceive him. He sends him his daughter as he +has promised.' + +Hjalte was not far from drawing his sword to slay the strange woman. He +had his hand already on the hilt, but he bethought himself it was not +befitting a warrior to take the life of a woman. But he would not waste +more words over this impostor. He turned round to go. + +The stranger with gentle voice called him back. + +'Where art thou going, Hjalte? Dost thou intend to go to Kungah[:a]lla to +report this to Olaf Haraldsson?' + +'That is my intention,' answered Hjalte, without looking at her. + +'Why, then, dost thou leave me, Hjalte? Why dost thou not remain with +me? I, too, am going to Kungah[:a]lla.' + +Hjalte now turned round and looked at her. + +'Hast thou, then, no pity for an old man?' he said. 'I tell thee that my +whole mind is set upon this marriage. Let me hear the full measure of my +misfortune. Is Princess Ingegerd not coming?' + +Then the Princess gave over fooling Hjalte. + +'Come into my tent and sit down,' she said, 'and I will tell thee all +that thou wouldest know. I see it is of no use to hide the truth from +thee.' + +Then she began to tell him everything: + +'The summer was already drawing to a close. The blackcock's lively young +ones had already strong feathers in their cloven tails and firmness in +their rounded wings; they had already begun to flutter about amongst the +close branches of the pine-forest with quick, noisy strokes. + +'It happened one morning that the Svea-King came riding across the +plain; he was returning from a successful chase. There hung from the +pommel of his saddle a shining blue-black blackcock, a tough old fellow, +with red eyebrows, as well as four of his half-grown young ones, which +on account of their youth were still garbed in many-coloured hues. And +the King was very proud; he thought it was not every man's luck to make +such a bag with falcon and hawk in one morning. + +'But that morning Princess Ingegerd and her maidens stood at the gates +of the castle waiting for the King. And amongst the maidens was one, +Astrid by name; she was the daughter of the Svea-King just as much as +Ingegerd, although her mother was not a free woman, and she was +therefore treated as a bondmaiden. And this young maiden stood and +showed her sister how the swallows gathered in the fields and chose the +leaders for their long journey. She reminded her that the summer was +soon over--the summer that should have witnessed the marriage of +Ingegerd--and urged her to ask the King why she might not set out on her +journey to King Olaf; for Astrid wished to accompany her sister on the +journey. She thought that if she could but once see Olaf Haraldsson, she +would have pleasure from it all her life. + +'But when the Svea-King saw the Princess, he rode up to her. + +'"Look, Ingegerd," he said, "here are five blackcocks hanging from my +saddle. In one morning I have killed five blackcocks. Who dost thou +think can boast of better luck? Have you ever heard of a King making a +better capture?" + +'But then the Princess was angered that he who barred the way for her +happiness should come so proudly and praise his own good luck. And to +make an end of the uncertainty that had tormented her for so many weeks, +she replied: + +'"Thou, father, hast with great honour killed five blackcocks, but I +know of a King who in one morning captured five other Kings, and that +was Olaf Haraldsson, the hero whom thou hast selected to be my husband." + +'Then the Svea-King sprang off his horse in great fury, and advanced +towards the Princess with clenched hands. + +'"What troll hath bewitched thee?" he asked. "What herb hath poisoned +thee? How hath thy mind been turned to this man?" + +'Ingegerd did not answer; she drew back, frightened. Then the King +became quieter. + +'"Fair daughter," he said to her, "dost thou not know how dear thou art +to me? How should I, then, give thee to one whom I cannot endure? I +should like my best wishes to go with thee on thy journey. I should like +to sit as guest in thy hall. I tell thee thou must turn thy mind to the +Kings of other lands, for Norway's King shall never own thee." + +'At these words the Princess became so confused that she could find no +other words than these with which to answer the King: + +'"I did not ask thee; it was the will of the people." + +'The King then asked her if she thought that the Svea-King was a slave, +who could not dispose of his own offspring, or if there were a master +over him who had the right to give away his daughters. + +'"Will the Svea-King be content to hear himself called a breaker of +oaths?" asked the Princess. + +'Then the Svea-King laughed aloud. + +'"Do not let that trouble thee. No one shall call me that. Why dost thou +question about this, thou who art a woman? There are still men in my +Council; they will find a way out of it." + +'Then the King turned towards his henchmen who had been with him to the +chase. + +'"My will is bound by this promise," he said to them. "How shall I be +released from it?" + +'But none of the King's men answered a word; no one knew how to counsel +him. + +'Then Oluf Sk[:o]tkonung became very wrath; he became like a madman. + +'"So much for your wisdom," he shouted again and again to his men. "I +will be free. Why do people laud your wisdom?" + +'Whilst the King raged and shouted, and no one knew how to answer him, +the maiden Astrid stepped forward from amongst the other women and made +a proposal. + +'Hjalte must really believe her when she told him that it was only +because she found it so amusing that she could not help saying it, and +not in the least because she thought it could really be done. + +'"Why dost thou not send me?" she had said. "I am also thy daughter. Why +dost thou not send me to the Norwegian King?" + +'But when Ingegerd heard Astrid say these words, she grew pale. + +'"Be silent, and go thy way!" she said angrily. "Go thy way, thou +tattler, thou deceitful, wicked thing, to propose such a shameful thing +to my father!" + +'But the King would not allow Astrid to go. On the contrary! on the +contrary! He stretched out his arms and drew her to his breast. He both +laughed and cried, and was as wild with joy as a child. + +'"Oh," he shouted, "what an idea! What a heathenish trick! Let us call +Astrid Ingegerd, and entrap the King of Norway into marrying her. And +afterwards when the rumour gets abroad that she is born of a bondwoman, +many will rejoice in their hearts, and Olaf Haraldsson will be held in +scorn and derision." + +'But then Ingegerd went up to the King, and prayed: + +"Oh, father, father! do not do this thing. King Olaf is dear at heart to +me. Surely thou wilt not grieve me by thus deceiving him." + +'And she added that she would patiently do the bidding of her royal +father, and give up all thought of marriage with Olaf Haraldsson, if he +would only promise not to do him this injury. + +'But the Svea-King would not listen to her prayers. He turned to Astrid +and caressed her, just as if she were as beautiful as revenge itself. + +'"Thou shalt go! thou shalt go soon--to-morrow!" he said. "All thy +dowry, thy clothes, my dear daughter, and thy retinue, can all be +collected in great haste. The Norwegian King will not think of such +things; he is too taken up with joy at the thought of possessing the +high-born daughter of the Svea-King." + +'Then Ingegerd understood that she could hope for no mercy. And she went +up to her sister, put her arm round her neck, and conducted her to the +hall. Here she placed her in her own seat of honour, whilst she herself +sat down on a low stool at her feet. And she said to Astrid that from +henceforth she must sit there, in order to accustom herself to the place +she should take as Queen. For Ingegerd did not wish that King Olaf +should have any occasion to be ashamed of his Queen. + +'Then the Princess sent her maidens to the wardrobes and the pantries to +fetch the dowry she had chosen for herself. And she gave everything to +her sister, so that Astrid should not come to Norway's King as a poor +bondwoman. She had also settled which of the serfs and maidens should +accompany Astrid, and at last she made her a present of her own splendid +galley. + +'"Thou shalt certainly have my galley," she said. "Thou knowest there +are many good men at the oars. For it is my will that thou shalt come +well dowered to Norway's King, so that he may feel honoured with his +Queen." + +'And afterwards the Princess had sat a long time with her sister, and +spoken with her about King Olaf. But she had spoken of him as one speaks +of the Saints of God, and not of kings, and Astrid had not understood +many of her words. But this much she did understand--that the King's +daughter wished to give Astrid all the good thoughts that dwelt in her +own heart, in order that King Olaf might not be so disappointed as her +father wished. And then Astrid, who was not so bad as people thought +her, forgot how often she had suffered for her sister's sake, and she +wished that she had been able to say, "I will not go!" She had also +spoken to her sister about this wish, and they had cried together, and +for the first time felt like sisters. + +'But it was not Astrid's nature to allow herself to be weighed down by +sorrow and scruples. By the time she was out at sea she had forgotten +all her sorrow and fear. She travelled as a Princess, and was waited +upon as a Princess. For the first time since her mother's death she was +happy.' + +When the King's beautiful daughter had told Hjalte all this she was +silent for a moment, and looked at him. Hjalte had sat immovable whilst +she was speaking, but the King's daughter grew pale when she saw the +pain his face betrayed. + +'Tell me what thou thinkest, Hjalte,' she exclaimed. 'Now, we are soon +at Kungah[:a]lla. How shall I fare there? Will the King slay me? Will he +brand me with red-hot irons, and send me back again? Tell me the truth, +Hjalte.' + +But Hjalte did not answer. He sat and talked to himself without knowing +it. Astrid heard him murmur that at Kungah[:a]lla no one knew Ingegerd, and +that he himself had but little inclination to turn back. + +But now Hjalte's moody face fell upon Astrid, and he began to question +her. She had wished, had she not, that she could have said 'No' to this +journey. When she came to Kungah[:a]lla, the choice lay before her. What +did she, then, mean to do! Would she tell King Olaf who she was? + +This question caused Astrid not a little embarrassment. She was silent +for a long while, but then she began to beg Hjalte to go with her to +Kungah[:a]lla and tell the King the truth. She told Hjalte that her maidens +and the men on board her ship had been bound to silence. + +'And what I shall do myself I do not know,' she said. 'How can I know +that? I have heard all thou hast told Ingegerd about Olaf Haraldsson.' + +When Astrid said this she saw that Hjalte was again lost in thought. She +heard him mutter to himself that he did not think she would confess how +things were. + +'But I must all the same tell her what awaits her,' he said. + +Then Hjalte rose, and spoke to her with the utmost gravity. + +'Let me tell thee yet another story, Astrid, about King Olaf, which I +have not told thee before: + +'It was at the time when King Olaf was a poor sea-king, when he only +possessed a few good ships and some faithful warriors, but none of his +forefathers' land. It was at the time when he fought with honour on +distant seas, chastised vikings and protected merchants, and aided +Christian princes with his sword. + +'The King had a dream that one night an angel of God descended to his +ship, set all the sails, and steered for the north. And it seemed to the +King that they had not sailed for a longer time than it takes the dawn +to extinguish a star before they came to a steep and rocky shore, cut up +by narrow fjords and bordered with milk-white breakers. But when they +reached the shore the angel stretched out his hand, and spoke in his +silvery voice. It rang through the wind, which whistled in the sails, +and through the waves surging round the keel. + +'"Thou, King Olaf," were the angel's words, "shalt possess this land for +all time." + +'And when the angel had said this the dream was over.' + +Hjalte now tried to explain to Astrid that like as the dawn tempers the +transition from dark night to sunny day, so God had not willed that King +Olaf should at once understand that the dream foretold him of superhuman +honour. The King had not understood that it was the will of God that he +from a heavenly throne should reign forever and ever over Norway's land, +that kings should reign and kings should pass away, but holy King Olaf +should continue to rule his kingdom for ever. + +The King's humility did not let him see the heavenly message in its +fulness of light, and he understood the words of the angel thus--that he +and his seed should forever rule over the land the angel had shown him. +And inasmuch as he thought he recognised in this land the kingdom of his +forefathers, he steered his course for Norway, and, fortune helping him, +he soon became King of that land. + +'And thus it is still, Astrid. Although everything indicates that in +King Olaf dwells a heavenly strength, he himself is still in doubt, and +thinks that he is only called to be an earthly King. He does not yet +stretch forth his hand for the crown of the saints. But now the time +cannot be far distant when he must fully realize his mission. It cannot +be far distant.' + +And old Hjalte went on speaking, whilst the light of the seer shone in +his soul and on his brow. + +'Is there any other woman but Ingegerd who would not be rejected by Olaf +Haraldsson and driven from his side when he fully understands the words +of the angel, that he shall be Norway's King for all time? Is there +anyone who can, then, follow him in his holy walk except Ingegerd?' + +And again Hjalte turned to Astrid and asked with great severity: + +'Answer me now and tell me whether thou wilt speak the truth to King +Olaf?' + +Astrid was now sore afraid. She answered humbly: + +'Why wilt thou not go with me to Kungah[:a]lla? Then I shall be compelled +to tell everything. Canst thou not see, Hjalte, that I do not know +myself what I shall do? If it were my intention to deceive the King, +could I not promise thee all thou wishest? All that I needed was to +persuade thee to go on thy way. But I am weak; I only asked thee to go +with me.' + +But hardly had she said this before she saw Hjalte's face glow with +fierce wrath. + +'Why should I help thee to escape the fate that awaits thee?' he asked. + +And then he said that he did not think he had any cause to show her +mercy. He hated her for having sinned against her sister. The man that +she would steal, thief as she was, belonged to Ingegerd. Even a hardened +warrior like Hjalte must groan with pain when he thought of how Ingegerd +had suffered. But Astrid had felt nothing. In the midst of all that +young maiden's sorrow she had come with wicked and cruel cunning, and +had only sought her own happiness. Woe unto Astrid! woe unto her! + +Hjalte had lowered his voice; it became heavy and dull; it sounded to +Astrid as if he were murmuring an incantation. + +'It is thou,' he said to her, 'who hast destroyed my most beautiful +song.' For the most beautiful song Hjalte had made was the one in which +he had joined the most pious of all women with the greatest of all men. +'But thou hast spoiled my song,' he said, 'and made a mockery of it; and +I will punish thee, thou child of H['e]l. I will punish thee; as the Lord +punisheth the tempter who brought sin into His world, I will punish +thee. But do not ask me,' he continued, 'to protect thee against thine +own self. I remember the Princess, and how she must suffer through the +trick thou playest on King Olaf. For her sake thou shalt be punished, +just as much as for mine. I will not go with thee to betray thee. That +is my revenge, Astrid. I will not betray thee. Go thou to Kungah[:a]lla, +Astrid; and if thou dost not speak of thine own accord, thou wilt become +the King's bride. But then, thou serpent, punishment shall overtake +thee! I know King Olaf, and I know thee. Thy life shall be such a burden +that thou wilt wish for death every day that passes.' + +When Hjalte had said this he turned away from her and went his way. + +Astrid sat a long time silent, thinking of what she had heard. But then +a smile came over her face. He forgot, did old Hjalte, that she had +suffered many trials, that she had learnt to laugh at pain. But +happiness, happiness, that she had never tried. + +And Astrid rose and went to the opening of the tent. She saw the angry +Bard's ship. She thought that far, far away she could see Iceland, +shrouded in mist, welcoming her much-travelled son with cold and +darkness. + + +III + +A sunny day late in the harvest, not a cloud in the sky; a day when one +thinks the fair sun will give to the earth all the light she possesses! +The fair sun is like a mother whose son is about to set out for a +far-off land, and who, in the hour of the leave-taking, cannot take her +eyes from the beloved. + +In the long valley where Kungah[:a]lla lies there is a row of small hills +covered with beech-wood. And now at harvest-time the trees have garbed +themselves in such splendid raiment that one's heart is gladdened. One +would almost think that the trees were going a-wooing. It looks as if +they had clothed themselves in gold and scarlet to win a rich bride by +their splendour. + +The large island of Hisingen, on the other side of the river, had also +adorned itself. But Hisingen is covered with golden-white birch-trees. +At Hisingen the trees are clad in light colours, as if they are little +maidens in bridal attire. + +But up the river, which comes rushing down towards the ocean as proudly +and wildly as if the harvest rain had filled it with frothy wine, there +passes the one ship after the other, rowing homewards. And when the +ships approach Kungah[:a]lla they hoist new white sails, instead of the old +ones of gray wadmal; and one cannot help thinking of old fairy-tales of +kings' sons who go out seeking adventures clothed in rags, but who throw +them off when they again enter the King's lofty hall. + +But all the people of Kungah[:a]lla have assembled at the landing-stages. +Old and young are busy unloading goods from the ships. They fill the +storehouses with salt and train-oil, with costly weapons, and +many-coloured rugs. They haul large and small vessels on to land, they +question the returned seamen about their voyage. But suddenly all work +ceases, and every eye is turned towards the river. + +Right between the big merchant vessels a large galley is making its way, +and people ask each other in astonishment who it can be that carries +sails striped with purple and a golden device on the prow; they wonder +what kind of ship it can be that comes flying over the waves like a +bird. They praise the oarsmen, who handle the oars so evenly that they +flash along the sides of the ship like an eagle's wings. + +'It must be the Swedish Princess who is coming,' they say. 'It must be +the beautiful Princess Ingegerd, for whom Olaf Haraldsson has been +waiting the whole summer and harvest.' + +And the women hasten down to the riverside to see the Princess when she +rows past them on her way to the King's Landing-Stage. Men and boys run +to the ships, or climb the roofs of the boathouses. + +When the women see the Princess standing in gorgeous apparel, they begin +to shout to her, and to greet her with words of welcome; and every man +who sees her radiant face tears his cap from his head and swings it high +in the air. But on the King's Landing-Stage stands King Olaf himself, +and when he sees the Princess his face beams with gladness, and his eyes +light up with tender love. + +And as it is now so late in the year that all the flowers are faded, the +young maidens pluck the golden-red autumnal leaves from the trees and +strew them on the bridge and in the street; and they hasten to deck +their houses with the bright berries of the mountain-ash and the +dark-red leaves of the poplar. + +The Princess, who stands high on the ship, sees the people waving and +greeting her in welcome. She sees the golden-red leaves over which she +shall walk, and foremost on the landing-stage she sees the King awaiting +her with smiles. And the Princess forgets everything she would have said +and confessed. She forgets that she is not Ingegerd, she forgets +everything except the one thing, that she is to be the wife of Olaf +Haraldsson. + + * * * * * + +One Sunday Olaf Haraldsson was seated at table, and his beautiful Queen +sat by his side. He was talking eagerly with her, resting his elbow on +the table, and turning towards her, so that he could see her face. But +when Astrid spoke the King lowered his eyes in order not to think of +anything but her lovely voice, and when she had been speaking for a long +time he began to cut the table with his knife without thinking of what +he was doing. All King Olaf's men knew that he would not have done this +if he had remembered that it was Sunday; but they had far too great a +respect for King Olaf to venture to remind him that he was committing a +sin. + +The longer Astrid talked, the more uneasy became his henchmen. The Queen +saw that they exchanged troubled glances with each other, but she did +not understand what was the matter. + +All had finished eating, and the food had been removed, but King Olaf +still sat and talked with Astrid and cut the top of the table. A whole +little heap of chips lay in front of him. Then at last his friend Bj[:o]rn, +the son of Ogur from Sel[:o], spoke. + +'What day is it to-morrow, Eilif?' he asked, turning to one of the +torch-bearers. + +'To-morrow is Monday,' answered Eilif in a loud and clear voice. + +Then the King lifted his head and looked up at Eilif. + +'Dost thou say that to-morrow is Monday?' he asked thoughtfully. + +Without saying another word, the King gathered up all the chips he had +cut off the table into his hand, went to the fireplace, seized a burning +coal, and laid it on the chips, which soon caught fire. The King stood +quite still and let them burn to ashes in his hand. Then all the +henchmen rejoiced, but the young Queen grew pale as death. + +'What sentence will he pronounce over me when he one day finds out my +sin,' she thought, 'he who punishes himself so hardly for so slight an +offence?' + + * * * * * + +Agge from Gardarike lay sick on board his galley in Kungah[:a]lla harbour. +He was lying in the narrow hold awaiting death. He had been suffering +for a long time from pains in his foot, and now there was an open sore, +and in the course of the last few hours it had begun to turn black. + +'Thou needest not die, Agge,' said Lodulf from Kungh[:a]lla, who had come +on board to see his sick friend. 'Dost thou not know that King Olaf is +here in the town, and that God, on account of his piety and holiness, +has given him power to heal the sick? Send a message to him and ask him +to come and lay his hand upon thee, and thou wilt recover.' + +'No, I cannot ask help from him,' answered Agge. 'Olaf Haraldsson hates +me because I have slain his foster-brother, Reor the White. If he knew +that my ship lay in the harbour, he would send his men to kill me.' + +But when Lodulf had left Agge and gone into the town, he met the young +Queen, who had been in the forest gathering nuts. + +'Queen,' Lodulf cried to her, 'say this to King Olaf: "Agge from +Gardarike, who has slain thy foster-brother, lies at the point of death +on his ship in the harbour."' + +The young Queen hastened home and went immediately up to King Olaf, who +stood in the courtyard smoothing the mane of his horse. + +'Rejoice, King Olaf!' she said. 'Agge from Gardarike, who slew thy +foster-brother, lies sick on his ship in the harbour and is near death.' + +Olaf Haraldsson at once led his horse into the stable; then he went out +without sword or helmet. He went quickly down one of the narrow lanes +between the houses until he reached the harbour. There he found the ship +which belonged to Agge. The King was at the side of the sick man before +Agge's men thought of stopping him. + +'Agge,' said King Olaf, 'many a time I have pursued thee on the sea, and +thou hast always escaped me. Now thou hast been struck down with +sickness here in my city. This is a sign to me that God hath given thy +life into my hands.' + +Agge made no answer. He was utterly feeble, and death was very near. +Olaf Haraldsson laid his hands upon his breast and prayed to God. + +'Give me the life of this mine enemy,' he said. + +But the Queen, who had seen the King hasten down to the harbour without +helmet and sword, went into the hall, fetched his weapons and called for +some of his men. Then she hurried after him down to the ship. But when +she stood outside the narrow hold, she heard King Olaf praying for the +sick man. + +Astrid looked in and saw the King and Agge without betraying her +presence. She saw that whilst the King's hands rested upon the forehead +and breast of the dying man, the deathly pallor vanished from his face; +he began to breathe lightly and quietly; he ceased moaning, and at last +he fell into a sound sleep. + +Astrid went softly back to the King's Castle. She dragged the King's +sword after her along the road. Her face was paler than the dying man's +had been. Her breathing was heavy, like that of a dying person. + + * * * * * + +It was the morning of All Saints' Day, and King Olaf was ready to go to +Mass. He came out of the King's Hall and went across the courtyard +towards the gateway. Several of the King's henchmen stood in the +courtyard to accompany him to Mass. When the King came towards them, +they drew up in two rows, and the King passed between them. + +Astrid stood in the narrow corridor outside the Women's Room and looked +down at the King. He wore a broad golden band round his head, and was +attired in a long mantle of red velvet. He went very quietly, and there +was a holy peace over his face. Astrid was terrified to see how much he +resembled the Saints and Kings that were carved in wood over the altar +in the Marie Church. + +At the gateway stood a man in a broad-brimmed hat, and wearing a big +mantle. When the King approached him he threw off his mantle, lifted a +drawn sword, which he had hidden under it, and rushed at the King. But +when he was quite close to him, the mild and gentle glance of the King +fell upon him, and he suddenly stopped. He let his sword fall to the +ground, and fell on his knees. + +King Olaf stood still, and looked at the man with the same clear glance; +the man tried to turn his eyes away from him, but he could not. At last +he burst into tears and sobs. + +'Oh, King Olaf! King Olaf!' he moaned. 'Thine enemies sent me hither to +slay thee; but when I saw thy saintly face my sword fell from my hand. +Thine eyes, King Olaf, have felled me to the ground.' + +Astrid sank upon her knees where she stood. + +'Oh God, have mercy upon me, a sinner!' she said. 'Woe unto me, because +by lying and deceit I have become the wife of this man.' + + +IV + +On the evening of All Saints' Day the moon shone bright and clear. The +King had gone the round of the castle, had looked into stables and barns +to see that all was well; he had even been to the house where the serfs +dwelt to ascertain if they were well looked after. When he went back to +the King's Hall, he saw a woman with a black kerchief over her head +stealing towards the gateway. He thought he knew her, and therefore +followed her. She went out of the gateway, over the Market Place, and +stole down the narrow lanes to the river. + +Olaf Haraldsson went after her as quietly as he could. He saw her go on +to one of the landing-stages, stand still, and look down into the water. +She stretched out her arms towards heaven, and, with a deep sigh, she +went so near the edge that the King saw she meant to spring into the +river. + +The King approached her with the noiseless steps which a life full of +danger had taught him. Twice the woman lifted her foot to make the +spring, but she hesitated. Before she could make a new attempt, King +Olaf had his arm round her waist and drew her back. + +'Thou unhappy one!' he said. 'Thou wouldest do that which God hath +prohibited.' + +When the woman heard his voice she held her hands before her face as if +to hide it. But King Olaf knew who she was. The rustle of her dress, the +shape of her head, the golden rings on her arms had already told him +that it was the Queen. The first moment Astrid had struggled to free +herself, but she soon grew quiet, and tried to make the King believe +that she had not intended to kill herself. + +'King Olaf, why dost thou secretly come behind a poor woman who hath +gone down to the river to see how she is mirrored in the water? What +must I think of thee?' + +Astrid's voice sounded composed and playful. The King stood silent. + +'Thou hast frightened me so that I nearly fell into the river,' Astrid +said. 'Didst thou think, perhaps, that I would drown myself?' + +The King answered: + +'I know not what to believe; God will enlighten me.' + +Astrid laughed and kissed him. + +'What woman would take her life who is as happy as I am? Doth one take +one's life in Paradise?' + +'I do not understand it,' said King Olaf, in his gentle manner. 'God +will enlighten me. He will tell me if it be through any fault of mine +that thou wouldest commit so great a sin.' + +Astrid went up to him and stroked his cheek. The reverence she felt for +King Olaf had hitherto deterred her from showing him the full tenderness +of her love. Now she threw her arms passionately around him and kissed +him countless times. Then she began to speak to him in gentle, bird-like +tones. + +'Wouldest thou know how truly my heart clings to thee?' she said. + +She made the King sit down on an overturned boat. She knelt down at his +feet. + +'King Olaf,' she said, 'I will no longer be Queen. She who loves as +greatly as I love thee cannot be a Queen. I wish thou wouldest go far +into the forest, and let me be thy bondwoman. Then I should have leave +to serve thee every day. Then I would prepare thy food, make thy bed, +and watch over thy house whilst thou slept. None other should have leave +to serve thee, except I. When thou returnest from the chase in the +evening, I would go to meet thee, and kneel before thee on the road and +say: "King Olaf, my life is thine." And thou wouldest laugh, and lower +thy spear against my breast, and say: "Yes, thy life is mine. Thou hast +neither father nor mother; thou art mine, and thy life is mine."' + +As Astrid said this, she drew, as if in play, King Olaf's sword out of +its sheath. She laid the hilt in the King's hand, but the point she +directed towards her own heart. + +'Say these words to me, King Olaf,' she said, 'as if we were alone in the +forest, and I were thy bondwoman. Say: "Thy life is mine."' + +'Thy life is God's,' said the King. + +Astrid laughed lightly. + +'My life is thine,' she repeated, in the tenderest voice, and the same +moment King Olaf felt that she pressed the point of the sword against +her breast. + +But the King held the sword with a firm hand, even when in play. He drew +it to him before Astrid had time to do herself any harm. And he sprang +up. For the first time in his life he trembled from fear. The Queen +would die at his hand, and she had not been far from attaining her wish. +At the same moment he had an inspiration, and he understood what was the +cause of her despair. + +'She has committed a sin,' he thought. 'She has a sin upon her +conscience.' + +He bent down over Astrid. + +'Tell me in what manner thou hast sinned,' he said. + +Astrid had thrown herself down on the rough planks of the bridge, crying +in utter despair. + +'No one free from guilt would weep like this,' thought the King. 'But +how can the honourable daughter of the King have brought such a heavy +burden upon her?' he asked himself. 'How can the noble Ingegerd have a +crime upon her conscience?' + +'Ingegerd, tell me how thou hast sinned,' he asked again. + +But Astrid was sobbing so violently that she could not answer, but +instead she drew off her golden arm and finger rings, and handed them to +the King with averted face. The King thought how unlike this was to the +gentle King's daughter of whom Hjalte had spoken. + +'Is this Hjalte's Ingegerd that lies sobbing at my feet?' he thought. + +He bent down and seized Astrid by the shoulder. + +'Who are thou? who art thou?' he said, shaking her arm. 'I see that thou +canst not be Ingegerd. Who art thou?' + +Astrid was still sobbing so violently that she could not speak. But in +order to give the King the answer he asked for, she let down her long +hair, twisted a lock of it round her arms, and held them towards the +King, and sat thus bowed and with drooping head. The King thought: + +'She wishes me to understand that she belongs to those who wear chains. +She confesses that she is a bondwoman.' + +A thought again struck the King; he now understood everything. + +'Has not the Svea-King a daughter who is the child of a bondwoman?' he +asked suddenly. + +He received no answer to this question either, but he heard Astrid +shudder as if from cold. King Olaf asked still one more question. + +'Thou whom I have made my wife,' he said, 'hast thou so low a mind that +thou wouldest allow thyself to be used as a means of spoiling a man's +honour? Is thy mind so mean that thou rejoicest when his enemies laugh +at his discomfiture?' + +Astrid could hear from the King's voice how bitterly he suffered under +the insult that had been offered him. She forgot her own sufferings, and +wept no more. + +'Take my life,' she said. + +A great temptation came upon King Olaf. + +'Slay this wicked bondwoman,' the old Adam said within him. 'Show the +Svea-King what it costs to make a fool of the King of Norway.' + +At that moment Olaf Haraldsson felt no love for Astrid. He hated her for +having been the means of his humiliation. He knew everybody would think +it right when he returned evil for evil, and if he did not avenge this +insult, he would be held in derision by the Bards, and his enemies would +no longer fear him. He had but one wish: to slay Astrid, to take her +life. His anger was so violent that it craved for blood. If a fool had +dared to put his fool's cap upon his head, would he not have torn it +off, torn it to pieces, thrown it on the ground, trampled upon it? If he +now laid Astrid a bloody corpse upon her ship, and sent her back to her +father, people would say of King Olaf that he was a worthy descendant of +Harald Haarfager. + +But King Olaf still held his sword in his hand, and under his fingers he +felt the hilt, upon which he had once had inscribed: 'Blessed are the +peacemakers,' 'Blessed are the meek,' 'Blessed are the merciful.' And +every time he, in this hour of anguish, grasped his sword firmly in +order to slay Astrid, he felt these words under his hand. He thought he +could feel every letter. He remembered the day when he had first heard +these words. + +'This I will write in letters of gold on the hilt of my sword,' he had +said, 'so that the words may burn in my hand every time I would swing my +sword in fury, or for an unjust cause.' + +He felt that the hilt of the sword now burnt in his hand. King Olaf said +aloud to himself: + +'Formerly thou wert the slave of many lusts; now thou hast but one +master, and that is God.' + +With these words he put back the sword into its sheath, and began to +walk to and fro on the bridge. Astrid remained lying in the same +position. King Olaf saw that she crouched in fear of death every time he +went past her. + +'I will not slay thee,' he said; but his voice sounded hard from hatred. + +King Olaf continued for awhile to walk backwards and forwards on the +bridge; then he went up to Astrid, and asked her in the same hard voice +what her real name was, and that she was able to answer him. He looked +at this woman whom he had so highly treasured, and who now lay at his +feet like a wounded deer--he looked down upon her as a dead man's soul +looks with pity at the poor body which was once its dwelling. + +'Oh, thou my soul,' said King Olaf, 'it was there thou dwelt in love, +and now thou art as homeless as a beggar.' He drew nearer to Astrid, +and spoke as if she were no longer living or could hear what he said. +'It was told me that there was a King's daughter whose heart was so pure +and holy that she endued with peace all who came near her. They told me +of her gentleness, that he who saw her felt as safe as a helpless child +does with its mother, and when the beautiful woman who now lies here +came to me, I thought that she was Ingegerd, and she became exceeding +dear to me. She was so beautiful and glad, and she made my own heavy +thoughts light. And did she sometimes act otherwise than I expected the +proud Ingegerd to do, she was too dear to me to doubt her; she stole +into my heart with her joyousness and beauty.' + +He was silent for a time, and thought how dear Astrid had been to him +and how happiness had with her come to his house. + +'I could forgive her,' he said aloud. 'I could again make her my Queen, +I could in love take her in my arms; but I _dare_ not, for my soul would +still be homeless. Ah, thou fair woman,' he said, 'why dost lying dwell +within thee? With thee there is no security, no rest.' + +The King went on bemoaning himself, but now Astrid stood up. + +'King Olaf, do not speak thus to me,' she said; 'I will rather die. +Understand, I am in earnest.' + +Then she tried to say a few words to excuse herself. She told him that +she had gone to Kungah[:a]lla not with the intention of deceiving him, but +in order to be a Princess for a few weeks, to be waited upon like a +Queen, to sail on the sea. But she had intended to confess who she was +as soon as she came to Kungah[:a]lla. There she expected to find Hjalte and +the other great men who knew Ingegerd. She had never thought of +deceiving him when she came, but an evil spirit had sent all those away +who knew Ingegerd, and then the temptation had come to her. + +'When I saw thee, King Olaf,' she said, 'I forgot everything to become +thine, and I thought I would gladly suffer death at thine hand had I but +for one day been thy wife.' + +King Olaf answered her: + +'I see that what was deadly earnest to me was but a pastime to thee. +Never hast thou thought upon what it was to come and say to a man: "I am +she whom thou most fervently desirest; I am that high-born maiden whom +it is the greatest honour to win." And then thou art not that woman; +thou art but a lying bondwoman.' + +'I have loved thee from the first moment I heard thy name,' Astrid said +softly. + +The King clenched his hand in anger against her. + +'Know, Astrid, that I have longed for Ingegerd as no man has ever longed +for woman. I would have clung to her as the soul of the dead clings to +the angel bearing him upwards. I thought she was so pure that she could +have helped me to lead a sinless life.' + +And he broke out into wild longings, and said that he longed for the +power of the holy ones of God, but that he was too weak and sinful to +attain to perfection. + +'But the King's daughter could have helped me,' he said; 'she the +saintly and gentle one would have helped me. Oh, my God,' he said, +'whichever way I turn I see sinners, wherever I go I meet those who +would entice me to sin. Why didst Thou not send me the King's daughter, +who had not a single evil thought in her heart? Her gentle eye would +have found the right path for my foot. Whenever I strayed from it her +gentle hand would have led me back.' + +A feeling of utter helplessness and the weariness of despair fell upon +Olaf Haraldsson. + +'It was this upon which I had set my hopes,' he said--'to have a good +woman at my side, not to wander alone amongst wickedness and sin +forever. Now I feel that I must succumb; I am unable to fight any +longer. Have I not asked God,' he exclaimed, 'what place I shall have +before His face? To what hast Thou chosen me, Thou Lord of souls? Is it +appointed unto me to become the equal of apostles and martyrs? But now, +Astrid, I need ask no longer; God hath not been willing to give me that +woman who should have assisted me in my wandering. Now I know that I +shall never win the crown of the Saints.' + +The King was silent in inconsolable despair; then Astrid drew nearer to +him. + +'King Olaf,' she said, 'what thou now sayest both Hjalte and Ingegerd +have told me long ago, but I would not believe that thou wert more than +a good and brave knight and noble King. It is only now that I have +lived under thy roof that my soul has begun to fear thee. I have felt +that it was worse than death to appear before thee with a lie upon my +lips. Never have I been so terrified,' Astrid continued, 'as when I +understood that thou wast a Saint. When I saw thee burn the chips in +thine hand, when I saw sickness flee at thy bidding, and the sword fall +out of thine enemy's hand when he met thee, I was terrified unto death +when I saw that thou wast a Saint, and I resolved to die before thou +knewest that I had deceived thee.' + +King Olaf did not answer. Astrid looked up at him; she saw that his eyes +were turned towards heaven. She did not know if he had heard her. + +'Ah,' she said, 'this moment have I feared every day and every hour +since I came hither. I would have died rather than live through it.' + +Olaf Haraldsson was still silent. + +'King Olaf,' she said, 'I would gladly give my life for thee; I would +gladly throw myself into the gray river so that thou shouldst not live +with a lying woman at thy side. The more I saw of thy holiness the +better I understood that I must go from thee. A Saint of God cannot have +a lying bondwoman at his side.' + +The King was still silent, but now Astrid raised her eyes to his face; +then she cried out, terror-stricken: + +'King Olaf, thy face shines.' + +Whilst Astrid spoke, God had shown King Olaf a vision. He saw all the +stars of heaven leave their appointed places, and fly like swarming +bees about the universe. But suddenly they all gathered above his head +and formed a radiant crown. + +'Astrid,' said he, with trembling voice, 'God hath spoken to me. It is +true what thou sayest. I shall become a Saint of God.' + +His voice trembled from emotion, and his face shone in the night. But +when Astrid saw the light that surrounded his head, she arose. For her +the last hope had faded. + +'Now I will go,' she said. 'Now thou knowest whom thou art. Thou canst +never more bear me at thy side. But think gently of me. Without joy or +happiness have I lived all my life. In rags have I gone; blows have I +endured. Forgive me when I am gone. My love has done thee no harm.' + +When Astrid in silent despair crossed over the bridge, Olaf Haraldsson +awoke from his ecstasy. He hastened after her. + +'Why wilt thou go?' he said. 'Why wilt thou go?' + +'_Must_ I not go from thee when thou art a Saint?' she whispered +scarcely audibly. + +'Thou shalt not go. Now thou canst remain,' said King Olaf. 'Before, I +was a lowly man and must fear all sin; a poor earthly King was I, too +poor to bestow on thee my grace; but now all the glory of Heaven has +been given to me. Art thou weak? I am the Lord's knight. Dost thou fall? +I can lift thee up. God hath chosen me, Astrid. Thou canst not harm me, +but I can help thee. Ah! what am I saying? In this hour God hath so +wholly and fully shed the riches of His love in my heart that I cannot +even see thou hast done wrong.' + +Gently and tenderly he lifted up the trembling form, and whilst lovingly +supporting her, who was still sobbing and who could hardly stand +upright, he and Astrid went back to the King's Castle. + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + III + + _Old_ AGNETE + + + + +_Old_ AGNETE + + +An old woman went up the mountain-path with short, tripping steps. She +was little and thin. Her face was pale and wizened, but neither hard nor +furrowed. She wore a long cloak and a quilled cap. She had a Prayer-Book +in her hand and a sprig of lavender in her handkerchief. + +She lived in a hut far up the high mountain where no trees could grow. +It was lying quite close to the edge of a broad glacier, which sent its +river of ice from the snow-clad mountain peak into the depths of the +valley. There she lived quite alone. All those who had belonged to her +were dead. + +It was Sunday, and she had been to church. But whatever might be the +cause, her going there had not made her happy, but sorrowful. The +clergyman had spoken about death and the doomed, and that had affected +her. She had suddenly begun to think of how she had heard in her +childhood that many of the doomed were tormented in the region of +eternal cold on the mountain right above her dwelling. She could +remember many tales about these wanderers of the glaciers--these +indefatigable shadows which were hunted from place to place by the icy +mountain winds. + +All at once she felt a great terror of the mountain, and thought that +her hut was dreadfully high up. Supposing those who moved about +invisibly there wandered down the glaciers! And she who was quite alone! +The word 'alone' gave to her thoughts a still sadder turn. She again +felt the full burden of that sorrow which never left her. She thought +how hard it was to be so far away from human beings. + +'Old Agnete,' she said aloud to herself, as she had got into the habit +of doing in the lonely waste, 'you sit in your hut and spin, and spin. +You work and toil all the hours of the day so as not to perish from +hunger. But is there anyone to whom you give any pleasure by being +alive? Is there anyone, old Agnete? If any of your own were +living----Yes, then, perhaps, if you lived nearer the village, you might +be of some use to somebody. Poor as you are, you could neither take dog +nor cat home to you, but you could probably now and then give a beggar +shelter. You ought not to live so far away from the highroad, old +Agnete. If you could only once in a while give a thirsty wayfarer a +drink, then you would know that it was of some use your being alive.' + +She sighed, and said to herself that not even the peasant women who gave +her flax to spin would mourn her death. She had certainly striven to do +her work honestly and well, but no doubt there were many who could have +done it better. She began to cry bitterly, when the thought struck her +that his reverence, who had seen her sitting in the same place in church +for so many, many years, would perhaps think it a matter of perfect +indifference whether she was dead or not. + +'It is as if I were dead,' she said. 'No one asks after me. I would just +as well lie down and die. I am already frozen to death from cold and +loneliness. I am frozen to the core of the heart, I am indeed. Ah me! ah +me!' she said, now she had been set a-thinking; 'if there were only +someone who really needed me, there might still be a little warmth left +in old Agnete. But I cannot knit stockings for the mountain goats, or +make the beds for the marmots, can I? I tell Thee,' she said, stretching +our her hands towards heaven, 'something Thou must give me to do, or I +shall lay me down and die.' + +At the same moment a tall, stern monk came towards her. He walked by her +side because he saw that she was sorrowful, and she told him about her +troubles. She said that her heart was nearly frozen to death, and that +she would become like one of the wanderers on the glacier if God did not +give her something to live for. + +'God will assuredly do that,' said the monk. + +'Do you not see that God is powerless here?' old Agnete said. 'Here +there is nothing but an empty, barren waste.' + +They went higher and higher towards the snow mountains. The moss spread +itself softly over the stones; the Alpine herbs, with their velvety +leaves, grew along the pathway; the mountain, with its rifts and +precipices, its glaciers and snow-drifts, towered above them, weighing +them down. Then the monk discovered old Agnete's hut, right below the +glacier. + +'Oh,' he said, 'is it there you live? Then you are not alone there; you +have company enough. Only look!' + +The monk put his thumb and first finger together, held them before old +Agnete's left eye, and bade her look through them towards the mountain. +But old Agnete shuddered and closed her eyes. + +'If there is anything to see up there, then I will not look on any +account,' she said. 'The Lord preserve us! it is bad enough without +that.' + +'Good-bye, then,' said the monk; 'it is not certain that you will be +permitted to see such a thing a second time.' + +Old Agnete grew curious; she opened her eyes and looked towards the +glacier. At first she saw nothing remarkable, but soon she began to +discern things moving about. What she had taken to be mist and vapour, +or bluish-white shadows on the ice, were multitudes of doomed souls, +tormented in the eternal cold. + +Poor old Agnete trembled like an aspen leaf. Everything was just as she +had heard it described in days gone by. The dead wandered about there in +endless anguish and pain. Most of them were shrouded in something long +and white, but all had their faces and their hands bared. + +They could not be counted, there was such a multitude. The longer she +looked, the more there appeared. Some walked proud and erect, others +seemed to dance over the glacier; but she saw that they all cut their +feet on the sharp and jagged edges of the ice. + +It was just as she had been told. She saw how they constantly huddled +close together, as if to warm themselves, but immediately drew back +again, terrified by the deathly cold which emanated from their bodies. + +It was as if the cold of the mountain came from them, as if it were they +who prevented the snow from melting and made the mist so piercingly +cold. + +They were not all moving; some stood in icy stoniness, and it looked as +if they had been standing thus for years, for ice and snow had gathered +around them so that only the upper portion of their bodies could be +seen. + +The longer the little old woman gazed the quieter she grew. Fear left +her, and she was only filled with sorrow for all these tormented beings. +There was no abatement in their pain, no rest for their torn feet, +hurrying over ice sharp as edged steel. And how cold they were! how they +shivered! how their teeth chattered from cold! Those who were petrified +and those who could move, all suffered alike from the snarling, biting, +unbearable cold. + +There were many young men and women; but there was no youth in their +faces, blue with cold. It looked as if they were playing, but all joy +was dead. They shivered, and were huddled up like old people. + +But those who made the deepest impression on her were those frozen fast +in the hard glacier, and those who were hanging from the mountain-side +like great icicles. + +Then the monk removed his hand, and old Agnete saw only the barren, +empty glaciers. Here and there were ice-mounds, but they did not +surround any petrified ghosts. The blue light on the glacier did not +proceed from frozen bodies; the wind chased the snowflakes before it, +but not any ghosts. + +Still old Agnete was certain that she had really seen all this, and she +asked the monk: + +'Is it permitted to do anything for these poor doomed ones?' + +He answered: + +'When has God forbidden Love to do good or Mercy to solace?' + +Then the monk went his way, and old Agnete went to her hut and thought +it all over. The whole evening she pondered how she could help the +doomed who were wandering on the glaciers. For the first time in many +years she had been too busy to think of her loneliness. + +Next morning she again went down to the village. She smiled, and was +well content. Old age was no longer so heavy a burden. 'The dead,' she +said to herself, 'do not care so much about red cheeks and light steps. +They only want one to think of them with a little warmth. But young +people do not trouble to do that. Oh no, oh no. How should the dead +protect themselves from the terrible coldness of death did not old +people open their hearts to them? + +When she came to the village shop she bought a large package of candles, +and from a peasant she ordered a great load of firewood; but in order to +pay for it she had to take in twice as much spinning as usual. + +Towards evening, when she got home again, she said many prayers, and +tried to keep up her courage by singing hymns. But her courage sank more +and more. All the same, she did what she had made up her mind to do. + +She moved her bed into the inner room of her hut. In the front room she +made a big fire and lighted it. In the window she placed two candles, +and left the outer door wide open. Then she went to bed. + +She lay in the darkness and listened. + +Yes, there certainly was a step. It was as if someone had come gliding +down the glacier. It came heavily, moaning. It crept round the hut as if +it dared not come in. Close to the wall it stood and shivered. + +Old Agnete could not bear it any longer. She sprang out of bed, went +into the outer room and closed the door. It was too much; flesh and +blood could not stand it. + +Outside the hut she heard deep sighs and dragging steps, as of sore, +wounded feet. They dragged themselves away further and further up the +icy glacier. Now and again she also heard sobs; but soon everything was +quiet. + +Then old Agnete was beside herself with anxiety. 'You are a coward, you +silly old thing,' she said. 'Both the fire and the lights, which cost so +much, are burning out. Shall it all have been done in vain because you +are such a miserable coward?' And when she had said this she got out of +bed again, crying from fear, with chattering teeth, and shivering all +over; but into the other room she went, and the door she opened. + +Again she lay and waited. Now she was no longer frightened that they +should come. She was only afraid lest she had scared them away, and that +they dared not come back. + +And as she lay there in the darkness she began to call just as she used +to do in her young days when she was tending the sheep. + +'My little white lambs, my lambs in the mountains, come, come! Come down +from rift and precipice, my little white lambs!' + +Then it seemed as if a cold wind from the mountain came rushing into the +room. She heard neither step nor sob, only gusts of wind that came +rushing along the walls of the hut into the room. And it sounded as if +someone were continually saying: + +'Hush, hush! Don't frighten her! don't frighten her! don't frighten +her!' + +She had a feeling as if the outside room was so overcrowded that they +were being crushed against the walls, and that the walls were giving +way. Sometimes it seemed as if they would lift the roof in order to gain +more room. But the whole time there were whispers: + +'Hush, hush! Don't frighten her! don't frighten her!' + +Then old Agnete felt happy and peaceful. She folded her hands and fell +asleep. In the morning it seemed as if the whole had been a dream. +Everything looked as usual in the outer room; the fire had burnt out, +and so had the candles. There was not a vestige of tallow left in the +candlesticks. + +As long as old Agnete lived she continued to do this. She spun and +worked so that she could keep her fire burning every night. And she was +happy because someone needed her. + +Then one Sunday she was not in her usual seat in the church. Two +peasants went up to her hut to see if there was anything the matter. She +was already dead, and they carried her body down to the village to bury +it. + +When, the following Sunday, her funeral took place, just before Mass, +there were but few who followed, neither did one see grief on any face. +But suddenly, just as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, a +tall, stern monk came into the churchyard, and he stood still and +pointed to the snow-clad mountains. Then they saw the whole +mountain-ridge shining in a red light as if lighted with joy, and round +it wound a procession of small yellow flames, looking like burning +candles. And these flames numbered as many as the candles which old +Agnete had burned for the doomed. Then people said: 'Praise the Lord! +She whom no one mourns here below has all the same found friends in the +solitude above.' + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + IV + + _The Fisherman's_ RING + + + + +_The Fisherman's_ RING + + +During the reign of the Doge Gradenigos there lived in Venice an old +fisherman, Cecco by name. He had been an unusually strong man, and was +still very strong for his age, but lately he had given up work and left +it to his two sons to provide for him. He was very proud of his sons, +and he loved them--ah, signor, how he loved them! + +Fate had so ordered it that their bringing up had been almost entirely +left to him. Their mother had died early, and so Cecco had to take care +of them. He had looked after their clothes and cooked their food; he had +sat in the boat with needle and cotton and mended and darned. He had not +cared in the least that people had laughed at him on that account. He +had also, quite alone, taught them all it was necessary for them to +know. He had made a couple of able fishermen of them, and taught them to +honour God and San Marco. + +'Always remember,' he said to them, 'that Venice will never be able to +stand in her own strength. Look at her! Has she not been built on the +waves? Look at the low islands close to land, where the sea plays +amongst the seaweed. You would not venture to tread upon them, and yet +it is upon such foundation that the whole city rests. And do you not +know that the north wind has strength enough to throw both churches and +palaces into the sea? Do you not know that we have such powerful +enemies, that all the princes in Christendom cannot vanquish them? +Therefore you must always pray to San Marco, for in his strong hands +rests the chains which hold Venice suspended over the depths of the +sea.' + +And in the evening, when the moon shed its light over Venice, +greenish-blue from the sea-mist; when they quietly glided up the Canale +Grande and the gondolas they met were full of singers; when the palaces +shone in their white splendour, and thousands of lights mirrored +themselves in the dark waters--then he always reminded them that they +must thank San Marco for life and happiness. + +But oh, signor! he did not forget him in the daytime either. When they +returned from fishing and glided over the water of the lagoons, +light-blue and golden; when the city lay before them, swimming on the +waves; when the great ships passed in and out of the harbour, and the +palace of the Doges shone like a huge jewel-casket, holding all the +world's treasure--then he never forgot to tell them that all these +things were the gift of San Marco, and that they would all vanish if a +single Venetian were ungrateful enough to give up believing in and +adoring him. + +Then, one day, the sons went out fishing on the open sea, outside Lido. +They were in company with several others, had a splendid vessel, and +intended being away several days. The weather was fine, and they hoped +for a goodly haul. + +They left the Rialto, the large island where the city proper lies, one +early morning, and as they passed through the lagoons they saw all the +islands which, like fortifications, protect Venice against the sea, +appear through the mist of the morning. There were La Gindecca and San +Giorgio on the right, and San Michele, Muracco and San Lazzaro on the +left. Then island followed upon island in a large circle, right on to +the long Lido lying straight before them, and forming, as it were, the +clasp of this string of pearls. And beyond Lido was the wide, infinite +sea. + +When they were well at sea, some of them got into a small boat and rowed +out to set their nets. It was still fine weather, although the waves +were higher here than inside the islands. None of them, however, dreamt +of any danger. They had a good boat and were experienced men. But soon +those left on the vessel saw that the sea and the sky suddenly grew +darker in the north. They understood that a storm was coming on, and +they at once shouted to their comrades, but they were already too far +away to hear them. + +The wind first reached the small boat. When the fishermen suddenly saw +the waves rise around them, as herds of cattle on a large plain arise in +the morning, one of the men in the boat stood up and beckoned to his +comrades, but the same moment he fell backwards into the sea. +Immediately afterwards a wave came which raised the boat on her bows, +and one could see how the men, as it were, were shaken from off their +seats and flung into the sea. It only lasted a moment, and everything +had disappeared. Then the boat again appeared, keel upwards. The men in +the vessel tried to reach the spot, but could not tack against the wind. + +It was a terrific storm which came rushing over the sea, and soon the +fishermen in the vessel had their work set to save themselves. They +succeeded in getting home safely, however, and brought with them the +news of the disaster. It was Cecco's two sons and three others who had +perished. + +Ah me! how strangely things come about! The same morning Cecco had gone +down to the Rialto to the fish-market. He went about amongst the stands +and strutted about like a fine gentleman because he had no need to work. +He even invited a couple of old Lido fishermen to an asteri and stood +them a beaker of wine. He grew very important as he sat there and +bragged and boasted about his sons. His spirits rose high, and he took +out the zecchine--the one the Doge had given him when he had saved a +child from drowning in Canale Grande. He was very proud of this large +gold coin, carried it always about him, and showed it to people whenever +there was an opportunity. + +Suddenly a man entered the asteri and began to tell about the disaster, +without noticing that Cecco was sitting there. But he had not been +speaking long before Cecco threw himself over him and seized him by the +throat. + +'You do not dare to tell me that they are dead!' he shrieked--'not my +sons!' + +The man succeeded in getting away from him, but Cecco for a long time +went on as if he were out of his mind. People heard him shout and groan; +they crowded into the asteri--as many as it could hold--and stood round +him in a circle as if he were a juggler. + +Cecco sat on the floor and moaned. He hit the hard stone floor with his +fist, and said over and over again: + +'It is San Marco, San Marco, San Marco!' + +'Cecco, you have taken leave of your senses from grief,' they said to +him. + +'I knew it would happen on the open sea,' Cecco said; 'outside Lido and +Malamocco, there, I knew it would happen. There San Marco would take +them. He bore them a grudge. I have feared it, boy. Yes,' he said, +without hearing what they said to quiet him, 'they once laughed at him, +once when we were lying outside Lido. He has not forgotten it; he will +not stand being laughed at.' + +He looked with confused glances at the bystanders, as if to seek help. + +'Look here, Beppo from Malamocca,' he said, stretching out his hand +towards a big fisherman, 'don't you believe it was San Marco?' + +'Don't imagine any such thing, Cecco.' + +'Now you shall hear, Beppo, how it happened. You see, we were lying out +at sea, and to while away the time I told them how San Marco had come to +Venice. The evangelist San Marco was first buried in a beautiful +cathedral at Alexandria in Egypt. But the town got into the possession +of unbelievers, and one day the Khalifa ordered that they should build +him a magnificent palace at Alexandria, and take some columns from the +Christian churches for its decoration. But just at that time there were +two Venetian merchants at Alexandria who had ten heavily-laden vessels +lying in the harbour. When these men entered the church where San Marco +was buried and heard the command of the Khalifa, they said to the +sorrowful priests: "The precious body which you have in your church may +be desecrated by the Saracens. Give it to us; we will honour it, for San +Marco was the first to preach on the Lagoon, and the Doge will reward +you." And the priests gave their consent, and in order that the +Christians of Alexandria should not object, the body of another holy man +was placed in the Evangelist's coffin. But to prevent the Saracens from +getting any news of the removal of the body, it was placed at the bottom +of a large chest, and above it were packed hams and smoked bacon, which +the Saracens could not endure. So when the Custom-house officers opened +the lid of the chest, they at once hurried away. The two merchants, +however, brought San Marco safely to Venice; you know, Beppo, that this +is what they say.' + +'I do, Cecco.' + +'Yes; but just listen now,' and Cecco half arose, and in his fear spoke +in a low voice. 'Something terrible now happened. When I told the boys +that the holy man had been hidden underneath the bacon, they burst out +laughing. I tried to hush them, but they only laughed the louder. +Giacomo was lying on his stomach in the bows, and Pietro sat with his +legs dangling outside the boat, and they both laughed so that it could +be heard far out over the sea.' + +'But, Cecco, surely two children may be allowed to laugh.' + +'But don't you understand that is where they have perished to-day--on +the very spot? Or can you understand why they should have lost their +lives on that spot?' + +Now they all began to talk to him and comfort him. It was his grief +which made him lose his senses. This was not like San Marco. He would +not revenge himself upon two children. Was it not natural that when a +boat was caught in a storm this would happen on the open sea and not in +the harbour? + +Surely his sons had not lived in enmity with San Marco. They had heard +them shout, '_Eviva San Marco!_' as eagerly as all the others, and had +he not protected them to this very day. He had never, during the years +that had passed, shown any sign of being angry with them. + +'But, Cecco,' they said, 'you will bring misfortune upon us with your +talk about San Marco. You, who are an old man and a wise man, should +know better than to raise his anger against the Venetians. What are we +without him?' + +Cecco sat and looked at them bewildered. + +'Then you don't believe it?' + +'No one in his senses would believe such a thing.' + +It looked as if they had succeeded in quieting him. + +'I will also try not to believe it,' he said. He rose and walked towards +the door. 'It would be too cruel, would it not?' he said. 'They were +too handsome and too brave for anyone to hate them; I will not believe +it.' + +He went home, and in the narrow street outside his door he met an old +woman, one of his neighbours. + +'They are reading a Mass in the cathedral for the souls of the dead,' +she said to Cecco, and hurried away. She was afraid of him; he looked so +strange. + +Cecco took his boat and made his way through the small canals down to +Riva degli Schiavoni. There was a wide view from there; he looked +towards Lido and the sea. Yes, it was a hard wind, but not a storm by +any means; there were hardly any waves. And his sons had perished in +weather like this! It was inconceivable. + +He fastened his boat, and went across the Piazetta and the Market Place +into San Marco. There were many people in the church, and they were all +kneeling and praying in great fear; for it is much more terrible for the +Venetians, you know, than any other people when there is a disaster at +sea. They do not get their living from vineyards or fields, but they are +all, everyone of them, dependent on the sea. Whenever the sea rose +against any one of them they were all afraid, and hurried to San Marco +to pray to him for protection. + +As soon as Cecco entered the cathedral he stopped. He thought of how he +had brought his little sons there, and taught them to pray to San Marco. +'It is he who carries us over the sea, who opens the gates of Byzance +for us and gives us the supremacy over the islands of the East,' he +said to them. Out of gratitude for all this the Venetians had built San +Marco the most beautiful temple in the world, and no vessel ever +returned from a foreign port without bringing a gift for San Marco. + +Then they had admired the red marble walls of the cathedral and the +golden mosaic ceiling. It was as if no misfortune could befall a city +that had such a sanctuary for her patron Saint. + +Cecco quickly knelt down and began to pray, the one _Paternoster_ after +the other. It came back, he felt. He would send it away by prayers. He +would not believe anything bad about San Marco. + +But it had been no storm at all. And so much was certain, that even if +the Saint had not sent the storm, he had, in any case, not done anything +to help Cecco's sons, but had allowed them to perish as if by accident. +When this thought came upon him he began to pray; but the thought would +not leave him. + +And to think that San Marco had a treasury in this cathedral full of all +the glories of fairyland! To think that he had himself prayed to him all +his life, and had never rowed past the Piazetta without going into the +cathedral to invoke him! + +Surely it was not by a mere accident that his sons had to-day perished +on the sea! Oh, it was miserable for the Venetians to have no one better +to depend upon! Just fancy a Saint who revenged himself upon two +children--a patron Saint who could not protect against a gust of wind! + +He stood up, and he shrugged his shoulders, and disparagingly waved his +hand when he looked towards the tomb of the Saint in the chancel. + +A verger was going about with a large chased silver-gilt dish, +collecting gifts for San Marco. He went from the one person to the +other, and also came to Cecco. + +Cecco drew back as if it were the Evil One himself who handed him the +plate. Did San Marco ask for gifts from him? Did he think he deserved +gifts from him? + +All at once he seized the large golden zecchine he had in his belt, and +flung it into the plate with such violence that the ring of it could be +heard all over the church. It disturbed those who were praying, and made +them turn round. And all who saw Cecco's face were terrified; he looked +as if he were possessed of evil spirits. + +Cecco immediately left the church, and at first felt it as a great +relief that he had been revenged upon the Saint. He had treated him as +one treats a usurer who demands more than he is entitled to. 'Take this +too,' one says, and throws his last gold piece in the fellow's face so +that the blood runs down over his eyes. But the usurer does not strike +again--simply stoops and picks up the zecchine. So, too, had San Marco +done. He had accepted Cecco's zecchine, having first robbed him of his +sons. Cecco had made him accept a gift which had been tendered with such +bitter hatred. Would an honourable man have put up with such treatment? +But San Marco was a coward--both cowardly and revengeful. But he was not +likely to revenge himself upon Cecco. He was, no doubt, pleased and +thankful he had got the zecchine. He simply accepted it and pretended +that it had been given as piously as could be. + +When Cecco stood at the entrance, two vergers quickly passed him. + +'It rises--it rises terribly!' the one said. + +'What rises?' asked Cecco. + +'The water in the crypt. It has risen a foot in the last two or three +minutes.' + +When Cecco went down the steps, he saw a small pool of water on the +Market Place close to the bottom step. It was sea-water, which had +splashed up from the Piazetta. He was surprised that the sea had risen +so high, and he hurried down to the Riva, where his boat lay. Everything +was as he had left it, only the water had risen considerably. It came +rolling in broad waves through the five sea-gates; but the wind was not +very strong. At the Riva there were already pools of sea-water, and the +canals rose so that the doors in the houses facing the water had to be +closed. The sky was all gray like the sea. + +It never struck Cecco that it might grow into a serious storm. He would +not believe any such thing. San Marco had allowed his sons to perish +without cause. He felt sure this was no real storm. He would just like +to see if it would be a storm, and he sat down beside his boat and +waited. + +Then suddenly rifts appeared in the dull-gray clouds which covered the +sky. The clouds were torn asunder and flung aside, and large +storm-clouds came rushing, black like warships, and from them scourging +rain and hail fell upon the city. And something like quite a new sea +came surging in from Lido. Ah, signor! they were not the swan-necked +waves you have seen out there, the waves that bend their transparent +necks and hasten towards the shore, and which, when they are pitilessly +repulsed, float away again with their white foam-hair dispersed over the +surface of the sea. These were dark waves, chasing each other in furious +rage, and over their tops the bitter froth of the sea was whipped into +mist. + +The wind was now so strong that the seagulls could no longer continue +their quiet flight, but, shrieking, were thrust from their course. Cecco +soon saw them with much trouble making their way towards the sea, so as +not to be caught by the storm and flung against the walls. Hundreds of +pigeons on San Marco's square flew up, beating their wings, so that it +sounded like a new storm, and hid themselves away in all the nooks and +corners of the church roof. + +But it was not the birds alone that were frightened by the storm. A +couple of gondolas had already got loose, and were thrown against the +shore, and were nearly shattered. And now all the gondoliers came +rushing to pull their boats into the boathouses, or place them in +shelter in the small canals. + +The sailors on the ships lying in the harbour worked with the +anchor-chains to make the vessels fast, in order to prevent them +drifting on to the shore. They took down the clothes hanging up to dry, +pulled their long caps well over their foreheads, and began to collect +all the loose articles lying about in order to bring them below deck. +Outside Canale Grande a whole fishing-fleet came hurrying home. All the +people from Lido and Malamocco who had sold their goods at the Rialto +were rushing homewards, before the storm grew too violent. + +Cecco laughed when he saw the fishermen bending over their oars and +straining themselves as if they were fleeing from death itself. Could +they not see that it was only a gust of wind? They could very well have +remained and given the Venetian women time to buy all their cattle, +fish, and crabs. + +He was certainly not going to pull his boat into shelter, although the +storm was now violent enough for any ordinary man to have taken notice +of it. The floating bridges were lifted up high and cast on to the +shore, whilst the washerwomen hurried home shrieking. The broad-brimmed +hats of the signors were blown off into the canals, from whence the +street-boys fished them out with great glee. Sails were torn from the +masts, and fluttered in the air with a cracking sound; children were +knocked down by the strong wind; and the clothes hanging on the lines in +the narrow streets were torn to rags and carried far away. + +Cecco laughed at the storm--a storm which drove the birds away, and +played all sorts of pranks in the street, like a boy. But, all the same, +he pulled his boat under one of the arches of the bridge. One could +really not allow what that wind might take it into its head to do. + +In the evening Cecco thought that it would have been fun to have been +out at sea. It would have been splendid sailing with such a fresh wind. +But on shore it was unpleasant. Chimneys were blown down; the roofs of +the boathouses were lifted right off; it rained tiles from the houses +into the canals; the wind shook the doors and the window-shutters, +rushed in under the open loggias of the palaces and tore off the +decorations. + +Cecco held out bravely, but he did not go home to bed. He could not take +the boat home with him, so it was better to remain and look after it. +But when anyone went by and said that it was terrible weather he would +not admit it. He had experienced very different weather in his young +days. + +'Storm!' he said to himself--'call this a storm? And they think, +perhaps, that it began the same moment I threw the zecchine to San +Marco. As if he can command a real storm!' + +When night came the wind and the sea grew still more violent, so that +Venice trembled in her foundations. Doge Gradenigo and the Gentlemen of +the High Council went in the darkness of the night to San Marco to pray +for the city. Torch-bearers went before them, and the flames were spread +out by the wind, so that they lay flat, like pennants. The wind tore the +Doge's heavy brocade gown, so that two men were obliged to hold it. + +Cecco thought this was the most remarkable thing he had ever seen--Doge +Gradenigo going himself to the cathedral on account of this bit of a +wind! What would those people have done if there had been a real storm? + +The waves beat incessantly against the bulwarks. In the darkness of the +night it was as if white-headed wresters sprang up from the deep, and +with teeth and claws clung fast to the piles to tear them loose from the +shore. Cecco fancied he could hear their angry snorts when they were +hurled back again. But he shuddered when he heard them come again and +again, and tear in the bulwarks. + +It seemed to him that the storm was far more terrible in the night. He +heard shouts in the air, and that was not the wind. Sometimes black +clouds came drifting like a whole row of heavy galleys, and it seemed as +if they advanced to make an assault on the city. Then he heard +distinctly someone speaking in one of the riven clouds over his head. + +'Things look bad for Venice now,' it said from the one cloud. 'Soon our +brothers the evil spirits will come and overthrow the city.' + +'I am afraid San Marco will not allow it to happen,' came as a response +from the other cloud. + +'San Marco has been knocked down by a Venetian, so he lies powerless, +and cannot help anyone,' said the first. + +The storm carried the words down to old Cecco, and from that moment he +was on his knees, praying San Marco for grace and forgiveness. For the +evil spirits had spoken the truth. It did indeed look bad for Venice. +The fair Queen of the Isles was near destruction. A Venetian had mocked +San Marco, and therefore Venice was in danger of being carried away by +the sea. There would be no more moonlight sails or her sea and in her +canals, and no more barcaroles would be heard from her black gondolas. +The sea would wash over the golden-haired signoras, over the proud +palaces, over San Marco, resplendent with gold. + +If there was no one to protect these islands, they were doomed to +destruction. Before San Marco came to Venice it had often happened that +large portions of them had been washed away by the waves. + +At early dawn San Marco's Church bells began to ring. People crept to +the church, their clothes being nearly torn off them. + +The storm went on increasing. The priests had resolved to go out and +adjure the storm and the sea. The main doors of the cathedral were +opened, and the long procession streamed out of the church. Foremost the +cross was carried, then came the choir-boys with wax candles, and last +in the procession were carried the banner of San Marco and the Sacred +Host. + +But the storm did not allow itself to be cowed; on the contrary, it was +as if it wished for nothing better to play with. It upset the +choir-boys, blew out the wax candles, and flung the baldachin, which was +carried over the Host, on to the top of the Doge's palace. It was with +the utmost trouble that they saved San Marco's banner, with the winged +lion, from being carried away. + +Cecco saw all this, and stole down to his boat moaning loudly. The whole +day he lay near the shore, often wet by the waves and in danger of being +washed into the sea. The whole day he was praying incessantly to God and +San Marco. He felt that the fate of the whole city depended upon his +prayers. + +There were not many people about that day, but some few went moaning +along the Riva. All spoke about the immeasurable damage the storm had +wrought. One could see the houses tumbling down on the Murano. It was as +if the whole island were under water. And also on the Rialto one or two +houses had fallen. + +The storm continued the whole day with unabated violence. In the evening +a large multitude of people assembled at the Market Place and the +Piazetta, although these were nearly covered with water. People dared +not remain in their houses, which shook in their very foundations. And +the cries of those who feared disaster mingled with the lamentations of +those whom it had already overtaken. Whole dwellings were under water; +children were drowned in their cradles. The old and the sick had been +swept with the overturned houses into the waves. + +Cecco was still lying and praying to San Marco. Oh, how could the crime +of a poor fisherman be taken in such earnest? Surely it was not his +fault that the saint was so powerless! He would let the demons take him +and his boat; he deserved no better fate. But not the whole city!--oh, +God in heaven, not the whole city! + +'My sons!' Cecco said to San Marco. 'What do I care about my sons when +Venice is at stake! I would willingly give a son for each tile in danger +of being blown into the canal if I could keep them in their place at +that price. Oh, San Marco, each little stone of Venice is worth as much +as a promising son.' + +At times he saw terrible things. There was a large galley which had torn +itself from its moorings and now came drifting towards the shore. It +went straight against the bulwark, and struck it with the ram's head in +her bows, just as if it had been an enemy's ship. It gave blow after +blow, and the attack was so violent that the vessel immediately sprang a +leak. The water rushed in, the leak grew larger, and the proud ship went +to pieces. But the whole time one could see the captain and two or three +of the crew, who would not leave the vessel, cling to the deck and meet +death without attempting to escape it. + +The second night came, and Cecco's prayers continued to knock at the +gate of heaven. + +'Let me alone suffer!' he cried. 'San Marco, it is more than a man can +bear, thus to drag others with him to destruction. Only send thy lion +and kill me; I shall not attempt to escape. Everything that thou wilt +have me give up for the city, that will I willingly sacrifice.' + +Just as he had uttered these words he looked towards the Piazetta, and +he thought he could no longer see San Marco's lion on the granite +pillar. Had San Marco permitted his lion to be overthrown? old Cecco +cried. He was nearly giving up Venice. + +Whilst he was lying there he saw visions and heard voices all the time. +The demons talked and moved to and fro. He heard them wheeze like wild +beasts every time they made their assaults on the bulwarks. He did not +mind them much; it was worse about Venice. + +Then he heard in the air above him the beating of strong wings; this +was surely San Marco's lion flying overhead. It moved backwards and +forwards in the air; he saw and yet he did not see it. Then it seemed to +him as if it descended on Riva degli Schiavoni, where he was lying, and +prowled about there. He was on the point of jumping into the sea from +fear, but he remained sitting where he was. It was no doubt he whom the +lion sought. If that could only save Venice, then he was quite willing +to let San Marco avenge himself upon him. + +Then the lion came crawling along the ground like a cat. He saw it +making ready to spring. He noticed that it beat its wings and screwed +its large carbuncle eyes together till they were only small fiery slits. + +Then old Cecco certainly did think of creeping down to his boat and +hiding himself under the arch of the bridge, but he pulled himself +together and remained where he was. The same moment a tall, imposing +figure stood by his side. + +'Good-evening, Cecco,' said the man; 'take your boat and row me across +to San Giorgio Maggiore.' + +'Yes, signor,' immediately replied the old fisherman. + +It was as if he had awakened from a dream. The lion had disappeared, and +the man must be somebody who knew him, although Cecco could not quite +remember where he had seen him before. He was glad to have company. The +terrible heaviness and anguish that had been over him since he had +revolted against the Saint suddenly vanished. As to rowing across to +San Giorgio, he did not for a moment think that it could be done. + +'I don't believe we can even get the boat out,' he said to himself. + +But there was something about the man at his side that made him feel he +must do all he possibly could to serve him; and he did succeed in +getting out the boat. He helped the stranger into the boat and took the +oars. + +Cecco could not help laughing to himself. + +'What are you thinking about? Don't go out further in any case,' he +said. 'Have you ever seen the like of these waves? Do tell him that it +is not within the power of man.' + +But he felt as if he could not tell the stranger that it was impossible. +He was sitting there as quietly as if he were sailing to the Lido on a +summer's eve. And Cecco began to row to San Giorgio Maggiore. + +It was a terrible row. Time after time the waves washed over them. + +'Oh, stop him!' Cecco said under his breath; 'do stop the man who goes +to sea in such weather! Otherwise he is a sensible old fisherman. Do +stop him!' + +Now the boat was up a steep mountain, and then it went down into a +valley. The foam splashed down on Cecco from the waves that rushed past +him like runaway horses, but in spite of everything he approached San +Giorgio. + +'For whom are you doing all this, risking boat and life?' he said. 'You +don't even know whether he can pay you. He does not look like a fine +gentleman. He is no better dressed than you are.' + +But he only said this to keep up his courage, and not to be ashamed of +his tractability. He was simply compelled to do everything the man in +the boat wanted. + +'But in any case not right to San Giorgio, you foolhardy old man,' he +said. 'The wind is even worse there than at the Rialto.' + +But he went there, nevertheless, and made the boat fast whilst the +stranger went on shore. He thought the wisest thing he could do would be +to slip away and leave his boat, but he did not do it. He would rather +die than deceive the stranger. He saw the latter go into the Church of +San Giorgio. Soon afterwards he returned, accompanied by a knight in +full armour. + +'Row us now to San Nicolo in Lido,' said the stranger. + +'Ay, ay,' Cecco thought; 'why not to Lido?' They had already, in +constant anguish and death, rowed to San Giorgio; why should they not +set out for Lido? + +And Cecco was shocked at himself that he obeyed the stranger even unto +death, for he now actually steered for the Lido. + +Being now three in the boat, it was still heavier work. He had no idea +how he should be able to do it. 'You might have lived many years yet,' +he said sorrowfully to himself. But the strange thing was that he was +not sorrowful, all the same. He was so glad that he could have laughed +aloud. And then he was proud that he could make headway. 'He knows how +to use his oars, does old Cecco,' he said. + +They laid-to at Lido, and the two strangers went on shore. They walked +towards San Nicolo in Lido, and soon returned accompanied by an old +Bishop, with robe and stole, crosier in hand, and mitre on head. + +'Now row out to the open sea,' said the first stranger. + +Old Cecco shuddered. Should he row out to the sea, where his sons +perished? Now he had not a single cheerful word to say to himself. He +did not think so much of the storm, but of the terror it was to have to +go out to the graves of his sons. If he rowed out there, he felt that he +gave the stranger more than his life. + +The three men sat silently in the boat as if they were on watch. Cecco +saw them bend forward and gaze into the night. They had reached the gate +of the sea at Lido, and the great storm-ridden sea lay before them. + +Cecco sobbed within himself. He thought of two dead bodies rolling about +in these waves. He gazed into the water for two familiar faces. But +onward the boat went. Cecco did not give in. + +Then suddenly the three men rose up in the boat; and Cecco fell upon his +knees, although he still went on holding the oars. A big ship steered +straight against them. + +Cecco could not quite tell whether it was a ship or only drifting mist. +The sails were large, spread out, as it were, towards the four corners +of heaven; and the hull was gigantic, but it looked as if it were built +of the lightest sea-mist. He thought he saw men on board and heard +shouting; but the crew were like deep darkness, and the shouting was +like the roar of the storm. + +However it was, it was far too terrible to see the ship steer straight +upon them, and Cecco closed his eyes. + +But the three men in the boat must have averted the collision, for the +boat was not upset. When Cecco looked up the ship had fled out to sea, +and loud wailings pierced the night. + +He rose, trembling to row further. He felt so tired that he could hardly +hold the oars. But now there was no longer any danger. The storm had +gone down, and the waves speedily laid themselves to rest. + +'Now row us back to Venice,' said the stranger to the fisherman. + +Cecco rowed the boat to Lido, where the Bishop went on shore, and to San +Giorgio, where the knight left them. The first powerful stranger went +with him all the way to the Rialto. + +When they had landed at Riva degli Schiavoni he said to the fisherman: + +'When it is daylight thou shalt go to the Doge and tell him what thou +hast seen this night. Tell him that San Marco and San Giorgio and San +Nicolo have to-night fought the evil spirits that would destroy Venice, +and have put them to flight.' + +'Yes, signor,' the fisherman answered, 'I will tell everything. But how +shall I speak so that the Doge will believe me?' + +Then San Marco handed him a ring with a precious stone possessed of a +wonderful lustre. + +'Show this to the Doge,' he said, 'then he will understand that it +brings a message from me. He knows my ring, which is kept in San Marco's +treasury in the cathedral.' + +The fisherman took the ring, and kissed it reverently. + +'Further, thou shalt tell the Doge,' said the holy man, 'that this is a +sign that I shall never forsake Venice. Even when the last Doge has left +Palazzo Ducali I will live and preserve Venice. Even if Venice lose her +islands in the East and the supremacy of the sea, and no Doge ever again +sets out on the Bucintoro, even then I will preserve the city beautiful +and resplendent. It shall always be rich and beloved, always be lauded +and its praises sung, always a place of joy for men to live in. Say +this, Cecco, and the Doge will not forsake thee in thine old age.' + +Then he disappeared; and soon the sun rose above the gate of the sea at +Torcello. With its first beautiful rays it shed a rosy light over the +white city and over the sea that shone in many colours. A red glow lay +over San Giorgio and San Marco, and over the whole shore, studded with +palaces. And in the lovely morning radiant Venetian ladies came out on +to the loggias and greeted with smiles the rising day. + +Venice was once again the beautiful goddess, rising from the sea in her +shell of rose-coloured pearl. Beautiful as never before, she combed her +golden hair, and threw the purple robe around her, to begin one of her +happiest days. For a transport of bliss filled her when the old +fisherman brought San Marco's ring to the Doge, and she heard how the +Saint, now, and until the end of time, would hold his protecting hand +over her. + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + V + + _Santa_ CATERINA _of_ SIENA + + + + +_Santa_ CATERINA _of_ SIENA + + +At Santa Caterina's house in Siena, on a day towards the end of April, +in the week when her f[^e]te is being celebrated, people come to the old +house in the Street of the Dyers, to the house with the pretty loggia +and with the many small chambers, which have now been converted into +chapels and sanctuaries, bringing bouquets of white lilies; and the +rooms are fragrant with incense and violets. + +Walking through these rooms, one cannot help thinking that it is just as +if she were dead yesterday, as if all those who go in and out of her +home to-day had seen and known her. + +But, on the other hand, no one could really think that she had died +recently, for then there would be more grief and tears, and not only a +quiet sense of loss. It is more as if a beloved daughter had been +recently married, and had left the parental home. + +Look only at the nearest houses. The old walls are still decorated as if +for a f[^e]te. And in her own home garlands of flowers are still hanging +beneath the portico and loggia, green leaves are strewn on the staircase +and the doorstep, and large bouquets of flowers fill the rooms with +their scent. + +She cannot possibly have been dead five hundred years. It looks much +more as if she had celebrated her marriage, and had gone away to a +country from which she would not return for many years, perhaps never. +Are not the houses decorated with nothing but red table-cloths, red +trappings, and red silken banners, and are there not stuck red-paper +roses in the dark garlands of oak-leaves? and the hangings over the +doors and the windows, are they not red with golden fringes? Can one +imagine anything more cheerful? + +And notice how the old women go about in the house and examine her small +belongings. It is as if they had seen her wear that very veil and that +very shirt of hair. They inspect the room in which she lived, and point +to the bedstead and the packets of letters, and they tell how at first +she could not at all learn to write, but that it came to her all at once +without her having learnt it. And only look at her writing--how good and +distinct! And then they point to the little bottle she used to carry at +her belt, so as always to have a little medicine at hand in case she met +a sick person, and they utter a blessing over the old lantern she held +in her hand when she went and visited the sick in the long weary nights. +It is just as if they would say: 'Dear me--dear me! that our little +Caterina Benincasa should be gone, that she will never come any more and +look after us old people!' And they kiss her picture, and take a flower +from the bouquets to keep as a remembrance. + +It looks as if those who were left in the home had long ago prepared +themselves for the separation, and tried to do everything possible to +keep alive the memory of the one who had gone away. See, there they +have painted her on the wall; there is the whole of her little history +represented in every detail. There she is when she cut off her beautiful +long hair so that no man could ever fall in love with her, for she would +never marry. Oh dear--oh dear! how much ridicule and scoffing she had +suffered on that account! It is dreadful to think how her mother +tormented her and treated her like a servant, and made her sleep on the +stone floor in the hall, and would not give her any food, all because of +her being so obstinate about that hair. But what was she to do when they +continually tried to get her married--she who would have no other +bridegroom than Christ? And there she is when she was kneeling in +prayer, and her father coming into the room without her knowing it saw a +beautiful white dove hovering over her head whilst she was praying. And +there she is on that Christmas Eve when she had gone secretly to the +Madonna's altar in order the more fully to rejoice over the birth of the +Son of God, and the beautiful Madonna leaned out of her picture and +handed the Child to her that she might be allowed to hold it for a +moment in her arms. Oh, what a joy it had been for her! + +Oh dear, no; it is not at all necessary to say that our little Caterina +Benincasa is dead. One need only say that she has gone away with the +Bridegroom. + +In her home one will never forget her pious ways and doings. All the +poor of Siena come and knock at her door because they know that it is +the marriage-day of the little virgin, and large piles of bread lie in +readiness for them as if she were still there. They have their pockets +and baskets filled; had she herself been there, she could not have sent +them away more heavily laden. She who had gone away had left so great a +want that one almost wonders the Bridegroom had the heart to take her +away with him. + +In the small chapels which have been arranged in every corner of the +house they read Mass the whole day, and they invoke the bride and sing +hymns in her praise. + +'Holy Caterina,' they say, 'on this the day of thy death, which is thine +heavenly wedding-day, pray for us!' + +'Holy Caterina, thou who hadst no other love but Christ, thou who in +life wert His affianced bride, and who in death wast received by Him in +Paradise, pray for us!' + +'Holy Caterina, thou radiant heavenly bride, thou most blessed of +virgins, thou whom the mother of God exalted to her Son's side, thou who +on this day wast carried by angels to the kingdom of glory, pray for +us!' + + * * * * * + +It is strange how one comes to love her, how the home and the pictures +and the love of the old and the poor seem to make her living, and one +begins to wonder how she really was, whether she was only a saint, only +a heavenly bride, and if it is true that she was unable to love any +other than Christ. And then comes to one's mind an old story which +warmed one's heart long ago, at first quite vague and without shape, but +whilst one is sitting there under the loggia in the festively decorated +home and watching the poor wander away with their full baskets, and +hearing the subdued murmur from the chapels, the story becomes more and +more distinct, and suddenly it is vivid and clear. + + * * * * * + +Nicola Tungo was a young nobleman of Perugia, who often came to Siena on +account of the races. He soon found out how badly Siena was governed, +and often said, both at the festive gatherings of the great and when he +sat drinking in the inns, that Siena ought to rise against the Signoria +and procure other rulers. + +The Signoria had not been in power for more than half a year; they did +not feel particularly firm in their office, and did not like the +Perugian stirring up the people. In order promptly to put a stop to it, +they had him imprisoned, and after a short trial he was sentenced to +death. He was placed in a cell in the Palazzo Publico whilst +preparations were being made for his execution, which was to take place +the next morning in the Market Place. + +At first he was strangely affected. To-morrow he would no more wear his +green velvet doublet and his beautiful sword; he would no more walk down +the street in his cap with the ostrich-feather and attract the glances +of the young maidens, and he had a feeling of painful disappointment +that he would never ride the new horse which he bought yesterday, and +which he had only tried once. + +Suddenly he called the gaoler, and asked him to go to the gentlemen of +the Signoria and tell them that he could not possibly allow himself to +be killed; he had no time. He had far too much to do. Life could not do +without him. His father was old, and he was the only son; it was through +his descendants that the family should be continued. It was he who +should give away his sisters in marriage, he who should build the new +palace, he who should plant the new vineyard. + +He was a strong young man; he did not know what sickness was, had +nothing but life in his veins. His hair was dark and his cheeks red. He +could not realize that he should die. + +When he thought of their wanting to take him away from pleasure and +dancing, and the carnival, and from the races next Sunday, and from the +serenade he was going to sing to the beautiful Giulietta Lombardi, he +became furiously angry, and his wrath was roused against the councillors +as though they were thieves and robbers. The scoundrels--the scoundrels +that would take his life from him! + +But as time went on his longings grew deeper; he longed for air and +water and heaven and earth. He felt he would not mind being a beggar by +the wayside; he would gladly suffer sickness and hunger and cold if only +he were allowed to live. + +He wished that everything might die with him, that nothing would be left +when he was gone; that would have been a great consolation. + +But that people should go to the Market Place and buy and sell, and that +the women would fetch water from the well, and that the children would +run in the streets the next day and all days, and that he would not be +there to see, that he could not bear. He envied not only those who +could live in luxury and pleasure, and were happy; he envied quite as +much the most miserable cripple. What he wanted was life, solely life. + +Then the priests and the monks came to see him. It made him almost +happy, for now he had someone upon whom he could wreak his anger. He +first allowed them to talk a little. It amused him to hear what they had +to say to a man so deeply wronged as he was, but when they said that he +ought to rejoice that he was permitted to leave this life and gain the +bliss of heaven in the fulness of his youth, then he started up and +poured forth his wrath upon them. He scoffed at God and the joys of +heaven--he did not want them. He would have life, and the world, and its +pomps and vanities. He regretted every day in which he had not revelled +in earthly enjoyment; he regretted every temptation he had resisted. God +need not trouble Himself in the least about him; he felt no longing for +His heaven. + +The priests continued to speak; he seized one of them by the throat, and +would have killed him had not the gaoler thrown himself between them. +They now bound and gagged him, and then preached to him; but as soon as +he was allowed to speak he raged as before. They talked to him for many +hours, but they saw that it was of no avail. + +When they could think of nothing else to do, one of them suggested they +should send for the young Caterina Benincasa, who had shown great power +in subduing defiant spirits. When the Perugian heard the name he +suddenly ceased his abuse. In truth, it pleased him. It was something +quite different, having to do with a young, beautiful maiden. + +'By all means send for the maiden,' he said. + +He knew that she was the young daughter of a dyer, and that she went +about alone and preached in the lanes and streets of the town. Some +thought she was mad, others said that she had visions. For him she +might, anyhow, be better company than these dirty monks, who made him +completely beside himself. + +The monks then went their way, and he was alone. Shortly afterwards the +door was again opened, but if she for whom they had sent had really +entered the cell, she must have walked with very light footsteps, for he +heard nothing. He lay on the floor just as he had thrown himself down in +his great anger; now he was too tired to raise himself, or make a +movement, or even to look up. His arms were tied together with ropes, +which cut deep into his flesh. + +He now felt that someone began to loosen his bands; a warm hand touched +his arm, and he looked up. Beside him lay a little figure in the white +dress of the Dominicans, with head and neck so shrouded in a white veil +that there was not more of her face to be seen than of that of a knight +in helmet and closed visor. + +She did not look so meek by any means; she was evidently a little +annoyed. He heard her murmur something about the gaolers who had +tightened the bands. It did not appear as if she had come for any other +purpose than these knots. She was only taken up with loosening them so +that they did not hurt. At last she had to bite in them, and then she +succeeded. She untied the cord with a light hand, and then took the +little bottle which was suspended from her belt and poured a few drops +upon the chafed skin. + +He lay the whole time and looked at her, but she did not meet his +glance; it appeared as if she could think of nothing else but what she +had between her hands. It was as if nothing were further from her +thoughts than that she was there to prepare him for death. He felt so +exhausted after his passion, and at the same time so quieted by her +presence, that he only said: + +'I think I will sleep.' + +'It is a great shame that they have not given you any straw,' she said. + +For a moment she looked about undecided. Then she sat down upon the +floor, and placed his head in her lap. + +'Are you better now?' she said. + +Never in his whole life had he felt such a rest. Yet sleep he could not, +but he lay and looked up in her face, which was like wax, and +transparent. Such eyes he had never seen before. They were always +looking far, far away, gazing into another world, whilst she sat quite +motionless, so as not to disturb his sleep. + +'You are not sleeping, Nicola Tungo,' she said, and looked uneasy. + +'I cannot sleep,' he replied, 'because I am wondering who you can be.' + +'I am a daughter of Luca Benincasa the dyer, and his wife Lapa,' she +said. + +'I know that,' he said, 'and I also know that you go about and preach in +the streets. And I know that you have attired yourself in the dress of +a nun, and have taken the vows of chastity. But yet I don't know who you +are.' + +She turned her head away a little. Then she said, whispering like one +who confesses her first love: + +'I am the Bride of Christ.' + +He did not laugh. On the contrary, he felt quite a pang in his heart, as +from jealousy. + +'Oh, Christ!' he said, as if she had thrown herself away. + +She heard that his tone was contemptuous, but she thought he meant that +she had spoken too presumptuously. + +'I do not understand it myself,' she said, 'but so it is.' + +'Is it an imagination or a dream?' he said. + +She turned her face towards him. The blood rose red behind the +transparent skin. He saw suddenly that she was fair as a flower, and she +became dear to him. He moved his lips as if to speak, but at first no +sound came. + +'How can you expect me to believe that?' he said defiantly. + +'Is it not enough for you that I am here in the prison with you?' she +asked, raising her voice. 'Is it any pleasure for a young girl like me +to go to you and other evil-doers in their gloomy dungeons? Is it usual +for a woman to stand and preach at the street corners as I do, and to be +held in derision? Do I not require sleep as other people? And yet I must +rise every night and go to the sick in the hospitals. Am I not timid as +other women? And yet I must go to the high-born gentlemen at their +castles and reason with them, I must go to the plague-smitten, I must +see all vice and sin. When have you seen another maiden do all this? But +I am obliged to do it.' + +'Poor thing!' he said, and stroked her hand gently--'poor thing!' + +'For I am not braver, or wiser, or stronger than others,' she said. 'It +is just as hard for me as for other maidens. You can see that. I have +come here to speak with you about your soul, but I do not at all know +what I shall say to you.' + +It was strange how reluctantly he would allow himself to be convinced. + +'You may be mistaken all the same,' he said. 'How do you know that you +can call yourself the Bride of Christ?' + +Her voice trembled, and it was as if she should tear out her heart when +she replied: + +'It began when I was quite young; I was not more than six years old. It +was one evening when I was walking with my brother in the meadow below +the church of the Dominicans, and just as I looked up at the church I +saw Christ sitting on a throne, surrounded by all His power and glory. +He was attired in shining white garments like the Holy Father in Rome. +His head was surrounded by all the splendour of Paradise, and around Him +stood Pietro Paolo and the Evangelist Giovanni. And whilst I gazed upon +Him my heart was filled with such a love and holy joy that I could +hardly bear it. He lifted His hand and blessed me, and I sank down on +the meadow, and was so overcome with bliss, that my brother had to take +me in his arms and shake me. And ever since that time, Nicola Tungo, I +have loved Jesus as a bridegroom.' + +He again objected. + +'You were a child then. You had fallen asleep in the meadow and were +dreaming.' + +'Dreaming?' she repeated. 'Have I been dreaming all the time I have seen +Him? Was it a dream when He came to me in the church in the likeness of +a beggar and asked for alms? Then I was wide awake, at any rate. And do +you think that for the sake of a dream only I could have borne all the +worries I have had to bear as a young girl because I would not marry?' + +Nicola went on contradicting her because he could not bear the thought +that her heart was filled with love to another. + +'But even if you do love Christ, maiden, how do you know that He loves +you?' + +She smiled her very happiest smile and clapped her hands like a child. + +'Now you shall hear,' she said. 'Now I will tell you the most important +of all. It was the last night before Lent. It was after my parents and I +had been reconciled, and I had obtained their permission to take the vow +of chastity and wear the dress of a nun, although I continued to live in +their house; and it was night, as I told you, the last night of the +carnival, when everybody turns night into day. There were f[^e]tes in every +street. On the walls of the big palaces hung balconies like cages, +completely covered with silken hangings and banners, and filled with +noble ladies. I saw all their beauty by the light of the red torches in +their bronze-holders, the one row over the other quite up to the roof; +and in the gaily decorated streets there was a train of carriages, with +golden towers, and all the gods and goddesses, and all the virtues and +beauties went by in a long procession. And everywhere there was such a +play of masks and so much merriment that I am sure that you, sir, have +never taken part in anything more gay. And I took refuge in my chamber, +but still I heard laughter from the street, and never before have I +heard people laugh like that; it was so clear and bell-like that +everyone was obliged to join in it. And they sang songs which, I +suppose, were wicked, but they sounded so innocent, and caused such +pleasure, that one's heart trembled. Then, in the middle of my prayers, +I suddenly began to wonder why I was not out amongst them, and the +thought fascinated and tempted me, as if I were dragged along by a +runaway horse; but never before have I prayed so intensely to Christ to +show me what was His will with me. Suddenly all the noise ceased, a +great and wonderful silence surrounded me, and I saw a great meadow, +where the Mother of God sat amongst the flowers, and on her lap lay the +Child Jesus, playing with lilies. But I hurried thither in great joy, +and knelt before the Child, and was at the same moment filled with peace +and quietness, and then the Holy Child placed a ring on my finger, and +said to me, "Know, Caterina, that to-day I celebrate My betrothal with +thee, and bind thee to Me by the strongest faith."' + +'Oh, Caterina!' + +The young Perugian had turned himself on the floor, so that he could +bury his face in her lap. It was as if he could not bear to see how +radiant she was whilst she was speaking, and now her eyes became bright +as stars. A shadow of pain passed over him. For whilst she spoke a great +sorrow had sprung up in his heart. This little maiden, this little white +maiden, he could never win. Her love belonged to another; it could never +be his. It was of no use even to tell her that he loved her; but he +suffered; his whole being groaned in love's agony. How could he bear to +live without her? It almost became a consolation to remember that he was +sentenced to death. It was not necessary for him to live and do without +her. + +Then the little woman beside him sighed deeply, and came back from the +joys of heaven in order to think of poor human beings. + +'I forgot to speak to you about your soul,' she said. + +Then, he thought: 'This burden, at any rate, I can lighten for her.' + +'Sister Caterina,' he said, 'I do not know how it is, but heavenly +consolation has come to me. In God's name I will prepare for death. Now +you may send for the priests and monks; now I will confess to them. But +one thing you must promise me before you go: you must come to me +to-morrow, when I shall die, and hold my head between your hands as you +are doing now.' + +When he said this she burst into tears, from a great feeling of relief, +and an unspeakable joy filled her. + +'How happy you must be, Nicola Tungo!' she said. 'You will be in +Paradise before I am;' and she stroked his face gently. + +He said again: + +'You will come to me to-morrow in the Market Place? Perhaps I shall +otherwise be afraid; perhaps I cannot otherwise die with steadfastness. +But when you are there I shall feel nothing but joy, and all fear will +leave me.' + +'You do not seem to me any more as a poor mortal,' she said, 'but as a +dweller of Paradise. You appear to me radiant with life, surrounded by +incense. Bliss comes to me from you, who shall so soon meet my beloved +Bridegroom. Be assured I shall come.' + +She then led him to confession and the Communion. He felt the whole time +as if he were asleep. All the fear of death and the longing for life had +passed away from him. He longed for the morning, when he should see her +again; he thought only of her, and of the love with which she had +inspired him. Death seemed to him now but a slight thing compared with +the pain of the thought that she would never love him. + +The young maiden did not sleep much during the night, and early in the +morning she went to the place of execution, to be there when he came. +She invoked Jesu, Mother, Marie, and the Holy Caterina of Egypt, virgin +and martyr, incessantly with prayers to save his soul. Incessantly she +repeated: 'I will that he shall be saved--I will, I will.' But she was +afraid that her prayers were unavailing, for she did not feel any longer +that ecstasy which had filled her the evening before; she only felt an +infinite pity for him who should die. She was quite overcome with grief +and sorrow. + +Little by little the Market Place filled with people. The soldiers +marched up, the executioner arrived, and much noise and talking went on +around her; but she saw and heard nothing. She felt as if she were quite +alone. + +When Nicola Tungo arrived, it was just the same with him. He had no +thought for all the others, but saw only her. When he saw at the first +glance that she was entirely overcome with sorrow, his face beamed, and +he felt almost happy. He called loudly to her: + +'You have not slept much this night, maiden?' + +'No,' she said; 'I have watched in prayer for you; but now I am in +despair, for my prayers have no power.' + +He knelt down before the block, and she knelt so that she could hold his +head in her hands. + +'Now I am going to your Bridegroom, Caterina.' + +She sobbed more and more. + +'I can comfort you so badly,' she said. + +He looked at her with a strange smile. + +'Your tears are my best comfort.' + +The executioner stood with his sword drawn, but she bade him with a +movement stand on one side, for she would speak a few words with the +doomed man. + +'Before you came,' she said, 'I laid my head down on the block to try if +I could bear it; and then I felt that I was still afraid of death, that +I do not love Jesus enough to be willing to die in this hour; and I do +not wish you to die either, and my prayers have no power.' + +When he heard this he thought: 'Had I lived I should have won her'; and +he was glad he should die before he had succeeded in drawing the radiant +heavenly bride down to earth. But when he had laid his head in her +hands, a great consolation came to them both. + +'Nicola Tungo,' she said, 'I see heaven open. The angels descend to +receive your soul.' + +A wondering smile passed over his face. Could what he had done for her +sake make him worthy of heaven? He lifted his eyes to see what she saw; +the same moment the sword fell. + +But Caterina saw the angels descend lower and lower, saw them lift his +soul, saw them carry it to heaven. + + * * * * * + +All at once it seemed so natural that Caterina Benincasa has lived all +these five hundred years. How could one forget that gentle little +maiden, that great loving heart? Again and again they must sing in her +praise, as they are now singing in the small chapels: + + 'Pia Mater et humilis, + Natur[ae] memor fragilis, + In hujus vit[ae] fluctibus + Nos rege tuis precibus. + Quem vidi, quem amavi, + In quem credidi, quem dilexi, + Ora pro nobis. + Ut digni efficiamur promessionibus Christi! + Santa Caterina, ora pro nobis!'[B] + + [B] Pious and gentle Mother, thou who knowest our weak nature, guide + us by thy prayers through this life's vicissitudes. Thou, whom I saw + and loved, in whom I believed and whom I adored, pray for us, that we + may be worthy of Christ's promises. Holy Caterina, pray for us! + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + VI + + _The Empress's_ MONEY-CHEST + + + + +_The Empress's_ MONEY-CHEST + + +The Bishop had summoned Father Verneau to appear before him. It was on +account of a somewhat unpleasant matter. Father Verneau had been sent to +preach in the manufacturing districts around Charleroi, but he had +arrived there in the midst of a strike, when the workmen were rather +excited and unmanageable. He informed the Bishop that he had immediately +on his arrival in the Black Country received a letter from one of the +leaders of the men to the effect that they were quite willing to hear +him preach, but if he ventured to mention the name of God either +directly or indirectly, there would be a disturbance in the church. + +'And when I went up into the pulpit and saw the congregation to whom I +should preach,' said the Father, 'I felt no doubt but that the threat +would be carried out.' + +Father Verneau was a little dried-up monk. The Bishop looked down upon +him as being of a lower order. Such an unshaven, not too clean monk, +with the most insignificant face, was, of course, a coward. He was, +probably, also afraid of the Bishop. + +'I have been informed,' said the Bishop, 'that you carried out the +workmen's wishes. But I need not point out----' + +'Monseigneur,' interrupted Father Verneau in all humility, 'I thought +the Church, if possible, would avoid everything that might lead to a +disturbance.' + +'But a Church that dare not mention the name of God----' + +'Has Monseigneur heard my sermon?' + +The Bishop walked up and down the floor to calm himself. + +'You know it by heart, of course?' he said. + +'Of course, Monseigneur.' + +'Let me hear it, then, as it was delivered, Father Verneau, word for +word, exactly as you preached it.' + +The Bishop sat down in his arm-chair. Father Verneau remained standing. + +'"Citizens and citizenesses," he began in the tone of a lecturer. + +The Bishop started. + +'Yes, that is how they will be addressed, Monseigneur.' + +'Never mind, Father Verneau, only proceed.' + +The Bishop shuddered slightly; these two words had suddenly shown him +the whole situation. He saw before him this gathering of the children of +the Black Country, to whom Father Verneau had preached. He saw many wild +faces, many rags, much coarse merriment. He saw these people for whom +nothing had been done. + +'"Citizens and citizenesses," began Father Verneau afresh, "there is in +this country an Empress called Maria Theresa. She is an excellent ruler, +the best and wisest Belgium has ever had. Other rulers, my +fellow-citizens, other rulers have successors when they die, and lose +all power over their people. Not so the great Empress Maria Theresa. +She may have lost the throne of Austria and Hungary; Brabant and Limburg +may now be under other rulers, but not her good province of West +Flanders. In West Flanders, where I have lived the last few years, no +other ruler is known to this very day than Maria Theresa. We know King +Leopold lives in Brussels, but that has nothing to do with us. It is +Maria Theresa who still reigns here by the sea, more especially in the +fishing villages. The nearer one gets to the sea, the mightier becomes +her power. Neither the great Revolution, nor the Empire, nor the Dutch +have had the power to overthrow her. How could they? They have done +nothing for the children of the sea that can compare with what she has +done. But what has she not done for the people on the dunes! What an +invaluable treasure, my fellow-citizens, has she not bestowed upon them! + +'"About one hundred and fifty years ago, in the early part of her reign, +she made a journey through Belgium. She visited Brussels and Bruges, she +went to Liege and Louvain, and when she had at last seen enough of large +cities and profusely ornamented town-halls, she went to the coast to see +the sea and the dunes. + +'"It was not a very cheering sight for her. She saw the ocean, so vast +and mighty that no man can fight against it. She saw the coast, helpless +and unprotected. There lay the dunes, but the sea had washed over them +before, and might do so again. There were also dams, but they had fallen +down and were neglected. + +'"She saw harbours filled with sand; she saw marshes overgrown with +rushes and weeds; she saw, below the dunes, fishing-huts ravaged by the +wind--huts looking as if they had been thrown there, a prey for the sea; +she saw poor old churches that had been moved away from the sea, lying +between quicksands and lyme-grass, in desolate wastes. + +'"The great Empress sat a whole day by the sea. She was told all about +the floods and the towns that had been washed away; she was shown the +spot where a whole district had sunk under the sea; she was rowed out to +the place where an old church stood at the bottom of the sea; and she +was told about all the people who had been drowned, and of all the +cattle that had been lost, the last time the sea had overflowed the +dunes. + +'"The whole day through the Empress sat thinking: 'How shall I help +these poor people on the dunes? I cannot forbid the sea to rise and +fall; I cannot forbid it to undermine the shore; nor can I stay the +storm, or prevent it from upsetting the fishermen's boats; and still +less can I lead the fish into their nets, or transform the lyme-grass +into nutritious wheat. There is no monarch in the world so mighty that +he can help these poor people in their need.' + +'"The next day it was Sunday, and the Empress heard Mass at +Blankenberghe. All the people from Dunkirk to Sluis had come to see her. +But before Mass the Empress went about and spoke with the people. + +'"The first person she addressed was the harbour-master from Nieuport. +'What news is there from your town?' asked the Empress. 'Nothing new,' +answered the harbour-master, 'except that Cornelis Aertsen's boat was +upset in the storm yesterday; and we found him this morning riding on +the keel.' 'It was a good thing his life was saved,' said the Empress. +'Well, I don't know,' said the harbour-master, 'for he was out of his +mind when he came on shore.' 'Was it from fear?' asked the Empress. +'Yes,' said the harbour-master; 'it is because we in Nieuport have +nothing to depend upon in the hour of need. Cornelis knew that his wife +and his small children would starve to death if he perished; and it was +this thought, I suppose, that drove him out of his mind.' 'Then that is +what you need here on the dunes--something to depend upon?' 'Yes, that +is it,' said the harbour-master. 'The sea is uncertain, the harvest is +uncertain, the fishing and the earnings are uncertain. Something to +depend upon, that is what we need.' + +'"The Empress then went on, and the next she spoke to was the priest +from Heyst. 'What news from Heyst?' said she to him. 'Nothing new,' he +answered, 'except that Jacob van Ravesteyn has given up making ditches +in the marshes, and dredging the harbour, and attending to the +lighthouses, and all other useful work he had to do.' 'How is that?' +said the Empress. 'He has inherited a sum of money,' said the priest; +'but it was less than he had expected.' 'But now he has something +certain,' said the Empress. 'Yes,' said the priest; 'but now he has got +the money he dare not venture to do anything great for fear it will not +be sufficient.' 'It is something infinitely great, then, that is needed +to help you at Heyst?' said the Empress. 'It is,' said the priest; +'there is infinitely much to do. And nothing can be done until we know +that we have something infinitely great to fall back upon.' + +'"The Empress then went on until she came to the master-pilot from +Middelkerke, whom she began to question about the news from his town. 'I +do not know of anything new,' said the master-pilot, 'but that Ian van +der Meer has quarrelled with Luca Neerwinden.' 'Indeed!' said the +Empress. 'Yes, they have found the cod-bank they have both been looking +for all their lives. They had heard about it from old people, and they +had hunted for it all over the sea, and they have been the best of +friends the whole time, but now they have found it they have fallen +out.' 'Then it would have been better if they had never found it?' said +the Empress. 'Yes,' answered the master-pilot, 'it would indeed have +been better.' 'So, then, that which is to help you in Middelkerke,' said +the Empress, 'must be hidden so well that no one can find it?' 'Just +so,' said the master-pilot; 'well hidden it must be, for if anyone +should find it, there would be nothing but quarrelling and strife over +it, or else it would be all spent, and then it would be of no further +use.' + +'"The Empress sighed, and felt she could do nothing. + +'"She then went to Mass, and the whole time she knelt and prayed that +power might be given her to help the people. And--you must excuse me, +citizens--when the Mass was finished, it had become clear to her that it +was better to do a little than to do nothing. When all the people had +come out of the church, she stood on the steps in order to address them. + +'"No man or woman of West Flanders will ever forget how she looked. She +was beautiful, like an Empress, and she was attired like an Empress. She +wore her crown and her ermine mantle, and held the sceptre in her hand. +Her hair was dressed high and powdered, and a string of large pearls was +entwined amongst the curls. She wore a robe of red silk, which was +entirely covered with Flemish lace, and red, high-heeled shoes, with +large diamond buckles. That is how she appears, she who to this day +still reigns over our West Flanders. + +'"She spoke to the people of the coast, and told them her will. She told +them of how she had thought of every way in which to help them. She said +that they knew she could not compel the sea to quietness or chain the +storm, that she could not lead the fish-shoals to the coast, or +transform the lyme-grass into wheat; but what a poor mortal could do for +them, that should be done. + +'"They all knelt before her whilst she spoke. Never before had they felt +such a gentle and motherly heart beat for them. The Empress spoke to +them in such a manner about their hard and toilsome life that tears came +into their eyes over her pity. + +'"But now the Empress said she had decided to leave with them her +Imperial money-chest, with all the treasures which it contained. That +should be her gift to all those who lived on the dunes. That was the +only assistance she could render them, and she asked them to forgive +her that it was so poor; and the Empress herself had tears in her eyes +when she said this. + +'"She now asked them if they would promise and swear not to use any of +the treasure until the need amongst them was so great that it could not +become any greater. Next, if they would swear to leave it as an +inheritance for their descendants, if they did not require it +themselves. And, lastly, she asked every man singly to swear that he +would not try to take possession of the treasure for his own use without +having first asked the consent of all his fellow-fishermen. + +'"If they were willing to swear? That they all were. And they blessed +the Empress and cried from gratitude. And she cried and told them that +she knew that what they needed was a support that would never fail them, +a treasure that could never be exhausted, and a happiness that was +unattainable, but that she could not give them. She had never been so +powerless as here on the dunes. + +'"My fellow-citizens, without her knowing it, solely by force of the +royal wisdom with which this great Queen was endowed, the power was +given her to attain far more than she had intended, and it is therefore +one can say that to this day she reigns over West Flanders. + +'"What a happiness, is it not, to hear of all the blessings which have +been spread over West Flanders by the Empress's gift! The people there +have now something to depend upon which they needed so badly, and which +we all need. However bad things may be, there is never any despair. + +'"They have told me at the dunes what the Empress's money-chest is like. +They say it is like the holy shrine of Saint Ursula at Bruges, only more +beautiful. It is a copy of the cathedral at Vienna, and it is of pure +gold; but on the sides the whole history of the Empress is depicted in +the whitest alabaster. On the small side-towers are the four diamonds +which the Empress took from the crown of the Sultan of Turkey, and in +the gable are her initials inlaid with rubies. But when I ask them +whether they have seen the money-chest, they reply that shipwrecked +sailors when in peril always see it swimming before them on the waves as +a sign that they shall not be in despair for their wives and children, +should they be compelled to leave them. But they are the only ones who +have seen the treasure, otherwise no one has been near enough to count +it. And you know, citizens, that the Empress never told anyone how great +it was. But if any of you doubt how much use it has been and is, then I +will ask you to go to the dunes and see for yourself. There has been +digging and building ever since that time, and the sea now lies cowed by +bulwarks and dams, and no longer does harm. And there are green meadows +inside the dunes, and there are flourishing towns and watering-places +near the shore. But for every lighthouse that has been built, for every +harbour that has been deepened, for every ship of which the keel has +been laid, for every dam that has been raised, they have always thought: +'If our own money should not be sufficient, we shall receive help from +our Gracious Empress Maria Theresa.' But this has been but a spur to +them: their own money has always sufficed. + +'"You know, also, that the Empress did not say where the treasure was. +Was not this well considered, citizens? There is one who has it in his +keeping, but only, when all are agreed upon dividing it, will he who +keeps the treasure come forward and reveal where it is. Therefore one is +certain that neither now nor in the future will it be unfairly divided. +It is the same for all. Everyone knows that the Empress thinks as much +of him as of his neighbour. There can be no strife or envy amongst the +people of the dunes as there is amongst other men, for they all share +alike in the treasure."' + +The Bishop interrupted Father Verneau. + +'That is enough,' he said. 'How did you continue?' + +'I said,' continued the monk, 'that it was very bad the good Empress had +not also come to Charleroi. I pitied them because they did not own her +money-chest. Considering the great things they had to accomplish, +considering the sea which they had to tame, the quicksands which they +had to bind, considering all this, I said to them surely there was +nothing they needed so much.' + +'And then?' asked the Bishop. + +'One or two cabbages, your Eminence, a little hissing; but then I was +already out of the pulpit. That was all.' + +'They had understood that you had spoken to them about the providence of +God?' + +The monk bowed. + +'They had understood that you would show them that the power which they +deride because they do not see it must be kept hidden? that it will be +abused immediately it assumes a visible form? I congratulate you, Father +Verneau.' + +The monk retired towards the door, bowing. The Bishop followed him, +beaming benevolently. + +'But the money-chest--do they still believe in it at the dunes?' + +'As much as ever, Monseigneur.' + +'And the treasure--has there ever been a treasure?' + +'Monseigneur, I have sworn.' + +'But for me,' said the Bishop. + +'It is the priest at Blankenberghe, who has it in his keeping. He +allowed me to see it. It is an old wooden chest with iron mountings.' + +'And?' + +'And at the bottom lie twenty bright Maria Theresa gold pieces.' + +The Bishop smiled, but became grave at once. + +'Is it right to compare such a wooden chest with God's providence?' + +'All comparisons are incomplete, Monseigneur; all human thoughts are +vain.' + +Father Verneau bowed once again, and quietly withdrew from the +audience-room. + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + VII + + _The_ PEACE _of_ GOD + + + + +_The_ PEACE _of_ GOD + + +Once upon a time there was an old farmhouse. It was Christmas-eve, the +sky was heavy with snow, and the north wind was biting. It was just that +time in the afternoon when everybody was busy finishing their work +before they went to the bath-house to have their Christmas bath. There +they had made such a fire that the flames went right up the chimney, and +sparks and soot were whirled about by the wind, and fell down on the +snow-decked roofs of the outhouses. And as the flames appeared above the +chimney of the bath-house, and rose like a fiery pillar above the farm, +everyone suddenly felt that Christmas was at hand. The girl that was +scrubbing the entrance floor began to hum, although the water was +freezing in the bucket beside her. The men in the wood-shed who were +cutting Christmas logs began to cut two at a time, and swung their axes +as merrily as if log-cutting were a mere pastime. + +An old woman came out of the pantry with a large pile of cakes in her +arms. She went slowly across the yard into the large red-painted +dwelling-house, and carried them carefully into the best room, and put +them down on the long seat. Then she spread the tablecloth on the table, +and arranged the cakes in heaps, a large and a small cake in each heap. +She was a singularly ugly old woman, with reddish hair, heavy drooping +eyelids, and with a peculiar strained look about the mouth and chin, as +if the muscles were too short. But being Christmas-eve, there was such a +joy and peace over her that one did not notice how ugly she was. + +But there was one person on the farm who was not happy, and that was the +girl who was tying up the whisks made of birch twigs that were to be +used for the baths. She sat near the fireplace, and had a whole armful +of fine birch twigs lying beside her on the floor, but the withes with +which she was to bind the twigs would not keep knotted. The best room +had a narrow, low window, with small panes, and through them the light +from the bath-house shone into the room, playing on the floor and +gilding the birch twigs. But the higher the fire burned the more unhappy +was the girl. She knew that the whisks would fall to pieces as soon as +one touched them, and that she would never hear the last of it until the +next Christmas fire was lighted. + +Just as she sat there bemoaning herself, the person of whom she was most +afraid came into the room. It was her master, Ingmar Ingmarson. He was +sure to have been to the bath-house to see if the stove was hot enough, +and now he wanted to see how the whisks were getting on. He was old, was +Ingmar Ingmarson, and he was fond of everything old, and just because +people were beginning to leave off bathing in the bath-houses and being +whipped with birch twigs, he made a great point of having it done on his +farm, and having it done properly. + +Ingmar Ingmarson wore an old coat of sheep's-skin, skin trousers, and +shoes smeared over with pitch. He was dirty and unshaven, slow in all +his movements, and came in so softly that one might very well have +mistaken him for a beggar. His features resembled his wife's features +and his ugliness resembled his wife's ugliness, for they were relations, +and from the time the girl first began to notice anything she had +learned to feel a wholesome reverence for anybody who looked like that; +for it was a great thing to belong to the old family of the Ingmars, +which had always been the first in the village. But the highest to which +a man could attain was to be Ingmar Ingmarson himself, and be the +richest, the wisest, and the mightiest in the whole parish. + +Ingmar Ingmarson went up to the girl, took one of the whisks, and swung +it in the air. It immediately fell to pieces; one of the twigs landed on +the Christmas table, another on the big four-poster. + +'I say, my girl,' said old Ingmar, laughing, 'do you think one uses that +kind of whisk when one takes a bath at the Ingmar's, or are you very +tender, my girl?' + +When the girl saw that her master did not take it more seriously than +that, she took heart, and answered that she could certainly make whisks +that would not go to pieces if she could get proper withes to bind them +with. + +'Then I suppose I must try to get some for you, my girl,' said old +Ingmar, for he was in a real Christmas humour. + +He went out of the room, stepped over the girl who was scouring the +floor, and remained standing on the doorstep, to see if there were +anyone about whom he could send to the birch-wood for some withes. The +farm hands were still busy cutting Yule logs; his son came out of the +barn with the Christmas sheaf; his two sons-in-law were putting the +carts into the shed so that the yard could be tidy for the Christmas +festival. None of them had time to leave their work. + +The old man then quietly made up his mind to go himself. He went across +the yard as if he were going into the cowshed, looked cautiously round +to make sure no one noticed him, and stole along outside the barn where +there was a fairly good road to the wood. The old man thought it was +better not to let anyone know where he was going, for either his son or +his sons-in-law might then have begged him to remain at home, and old +people like to have their own way. + +He went down the road, across the fields, through the small pine-forest +into the birch-wood. Here he left the road, and waded in the snow to +find some young birches. + +About the same time the wind at last accomplished what it had been busy +with the whole day: it tore the snow from the clouds, and now came +rushing through the wood with a long train of snow after it. + +Ingmar Ingmarson had just stooped down and cut off a birch twig, when +the wind came tearing along laden with snow. Just as the old man was +getting up the wind blew a whole heap of snow in his face. His eyes were +full of snow, and the wind whirled so violently around him that he was +obliged to turn round once or twice. + +The whole misfortune, no doubt, arose from Ingmar Ingmarson being so +old. In his young days a snowstorm would certainly not have made him +dizzy. But now everything danced round him as if he had joined in a +Christmas polka, and when he wanted to go home he went in the wrong +direction. He went straight into the large pine-forest behind the +birch-wood instead of going towards the fields. + +It soon grew dark, and the storm continued to howl and whirl around him +amongst the young trees on the outskirts of the forest. The old man saw +quite well that he was walking amongst fir-trees, but he did not +understand that this was wrong, for there were also fir-trees on the +other side of the birch-wood nearest the farm. But by-and-by he got so +far into the forest that everything was quiet and still--one could not +feel the storm, and the trees were high with thick stems--then he found +out that he had mistaken the road, and would turn back. + +He became excited and upset at the thought that he _could_ lose his way, +and as he stood there in the midst of the pathless wood he was not +sufficiently clear-headed to know in which direction to turn. He first +went to the one side and then to the other. At last it occurred to him +to retrace his way in his own footprints, but darkness came on, and he +could no longer follow them. The trees around him grew higher and +higher. Whichever way he went, it was evident to him that he got further +and further into the forest. + +It was like witchcraft and sorcery, he thought, that he should be +running about the woods like this all the evening and be too late for +the bathing. He turned his cap and rebound his garter, but his head was +no clearer. It had become quite dark, and he began to think that he +would have to remain the whole night in the woods. + +He leant against a tree, stood still for a little, and tried to collect +his thoughts. He knew this forest so well, and had walked in it so much, +that he ought to know every single tree. As a boy he had gone there and +tended sheep. He had gone there and laid snares for the birds. In his +young days he had helped to fell trees there. He had seen old trees cut +down and new ones grow up. At last he thought he had an idea where he +was, and fancied if he went that and that way he must come upon the +right road; but all the same, he only went deeper and deeper into the +forest. + +Once he felt smooth, firm ground under his feet, and knew from that, +that he had at last come to some road. He tried now to follow this, for +a road, he thought, was bound to lead to some place or other; but then +the road ended at an open space in the forest, and there the snowstorm +had it all its own way; there was neither road nor path, only drifts and +loose snow. Then the old man's courage failed him; he felt like some +poor creature destined to die a lonely death in the wilderness. + +He began to grow tired of dragging himself through the snow, and time +after time he sat down on a stone to rest; but as soon as he sat down he +felt he was on the point of falling asleep, and he knew he would be +frozen to death if he did fall asleep, therefore he tried to walk and +walk; that was the only thing that could save him. But all at once he +could not resist the inclination to sit down. He thought if he could +only rest, it did not matter if it did cost him his life. + +It was so delightful to sit down that the thought of death did not in +the least frighten him. He felt a kind of happiness at the thought that +when he was dead the account of his whole life would be read aloud in +the church. He thought of how beautifully the old Dean had spoken about +his father, and how something equally beautiful would be sure to be said +about him. The Dean would say that he had owned the oldest farm in the +district, and he would speak about the honour it was to belong to such a +distinguished family, and then something would be said about +responsibility. Of course there was responsibility in the matter; that +he had always known. One must endure to the very last when one was an +Ingmar. + +The thought rushed through him that it was not befitting for him to be +found frozen to death in the wild forest. He would not have that handed +down to posterity; and he stood up again and began to walk. He had been +sitting so long that masses of snow fell from his fur coat when he +moved. But soon he sat down again and began to dream. + +The thought of death now came quite gently to him. He thought about the +whole of the funeral and all the honour they would show his dead body. +He could see the table laid for the great funeral feast in the large +room on the first floor, the Dean and his wife in the seats of honour, +the Justice of the Peace, with the white frill spread over his narrow +chest; the Major's wife in full dress, with a low silk bodice, and her +neck covered with pearls and gold; he saw all the best rooms draped in +white--white sheets before the windows, white over the furniture; +branches of fir strewn the whole way from the entrance-hall to the +church; house-cleaning and butchering, brewing and baking for a +fortnight before the funeral; the corpse on a bier in the inmost room; +smoke from the newly-lighted fires in the rooms; the whole house crowded +with guests; singing over the body whilst the lid of the coffin was +being screwed on; silver plates on the coffin; twenty loads of wood +burned in a fortnight; the whole village busy cooking food to take to +the funeral; all the tall hats newly ironed; all the corn-brandy from +the autumn drunk up during the funeral feast; all the roads crowded with +people as at fair-time. + +Again the old man started up. He had heard them sitting and talking +about him during the feast. + +'But how did he manage to go and get frozen to death?' asked the Justice +of the Peace. 'What could he have been doing in the large forest?' + +And the Captain would say that it was probably from Christmas ale and +corn-brandy. And that roused him again. The Ingmars had never been +drunkards. It should never be said of him that he was muddled in his +last moments. And he began again to walk and walk; but he was so tired +that he could scarcely stand on his legs. It was quite clear to him now +that he had got far into the forest, for there were no paths anywhere, +but many large rocks, of which he knew there were none lower down. His +foot caught between two stones, so that he had difficulty in getting it +out, and he stood and moaned. He was quite done for. + +Suddenly he fell over a heap of fagots. He fell softly on to the snow +and branches, so he was not hurt, but he did not take the trouble to get +up again. He had no other desire in the world than to sleep. He pushed +the fagots to one side and crept under them as if they were a rug; but +when he pushed himself under the branches he felt that underneath there +was something warm and soft. This must be a bear, he thought. + +He felt the animal move, and heard it sniff; but he lay still. The bear +might eat him if it liked, he thought. He had not strength enough to +move a single step to get out of its way. + +But it seemed as if the bear did not want to harm anyone who sought its +protection on such a night as this. It moved a little further into its +lair, as if to make room for its visitor, and directly afterwards it +slept again with even, snorting breath. + + * * * * * + +In the meantime there was but scanty Christmas joy in the old farm of +the Ingmars. The whole of Christmas-eve they were looking for Ingmar +Ingmarson. First they went all over the dwelling-house and all the +outhouses. They searched high and low, from loft to cellar. Then they +went to the neighbouring farms and inquired for Ingmar Ingmarson. + +As they did not find him, his sons and his sons-in-law went into the +fields and roads. They used the torches which should have lighted the +way for people going to early service on Christmas morning in the search +for him. The terrible snowstorm had hidden all traces, and the howling +of the wind drowned the sound of their voices when they called and +shouted. They were out and about until long after midnight, but then +they saw that it was useless to continue the search, and that they must +wait until daylight to find the old man. + +At the first pale streak of dawn everybody was up at Ingmar's farm, and +the men stood about the yard ready to set out for the wood. But before +they started the old housewife came and called them into the best room. +She told them to sit down on the long benches; she herself sat down by +the Christmas table with the Bible in front of her and began to read. +She tried her best to find something suitable for the occasion, and +chose the story of the man who was travelling from Jerusalem to Jericho, +and fell among thieves. + +She read slowly and monotonously about the unfortunate man who was +succoured by the good Samaritan. Her sons and sons-in-law, her daughters +and daughters-in-law, sat around her on the benches. They all resembled +her and each other, big and clumsy, with plain, old-fashioned faces, for +they all belonged to the old race of the Ingmars. They had all reddish +hair, freckled skin, and light-blue eyes with white eyelashes. They +might be different enough from each other in some ways, but they had all +a stern look about the mouth, dull eyes, and heavy movements, as if +everything were a trouble to them. But one could see that they all, +every one of them, belonged to the first people in the neighbourhood, +and that they knew themselves to be better than other people. + +All the sons and daughters of the house of Ingmar sighed deeply during +the reading of the Bible. They wondered if some good Samaritan had found +the master of the house and taken care of him, for all the Ingmars felt +as if they had lost part of their own soul when a misfortune happened to +anyone belonging to the family. + +The old woman read and read, and came to the question: 'Who was +neighbour unto him that fell amongst thieves?' But before she had read +the answer the door opened and old Ingmar came into the room. + +'Mother, here is father,' said one of the daughters; and the answer, +that the man's neighbour was he who had shown mercy unto him, was never +read. + + * * * * * + +Later in the day the housewife sat again in the same place, and read her +Bible. She was alone; the women had gone to church, and the men were +bear-hunting in the forest. As soon as Ingmar Ingmarson had eaten and +drunk, he took his sons with him and went out to the forest; for it is +every man's duty to kill a bear wherever and whenever he comes across +one. It does not do to spare a bear, for sooner or later it will get a +taste for flesh, and then it will spare neither man nor beast. + +But after they were gone a great feeling of fear came over the old +housewife, and she began to read her Bible. She read the lesson for the +day, which was also the text for the Pastor's sermon; but she did not +get further than this: 'Peace on earth, goodwill towards men.' She +remained sitting and staring at these words with her dull eyes, now and +again sighing deeply. She did not read any further, but she repeated +time after time in her slow, drawling voice, 'Peace on earth, goodwill +towards men.' + +The eldest son came into the room just as she was going to repeat the +words afresh. + +'Mother!' he said softly. + +She heard him, but did not take her eyes from the book whilst she asked: + +'Are you not with the others in the forest?' + +'Yes,' said he, still more softly, 'I have been there.' + +'Come to the table,' she said, 'so that I can see you.' + +He came nearer, but when she looked at him she saw that he was +trembling. He had to press his hands hard against the edge of the table +in order to keep them still. + +'Have you got the bear?' she asked again. + +He could not answer; he only shook his head. + +The old woman got up and did what she had not done since her son was a +child. She went up to him, laid her hand on his arm, and drew him to the +bench. She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. + +'Tell me now what has happened, my boy.' + +The young man recognised the caress which had comforted him in bygone +days when he had been in trouble and unhappy, and he was so overcome +that he began to weep. + +'I suppose it is something about father?' she said. + +'It is worse than that,' the son sobbed. 'Worse than that?' + +The young man cried more and more violently; he did not know how to +control his voice. At last he lifted his rough hand, with the broad +fingers, and pointed to what she had just read: 'Peace on earth. . . .' + +'Is it anything about that?' she asked. + +'Yes,' he answered. + +'Is it anything about the peace of Christmas?' + +'Yes.' + +'You wished to do an evil deed this morning?' + +'Yes.' + +'And God has punished us?' + +'God has punished us.' + +So at last she was told how it had happened. They had with some trouble +found the lair of the bear, and when they had got near enough to see the +heap of fagots, they stopped in order to load their guns. But before +they were ready the bear rushed out of its lair straight against them. +It went neither to the right nor to the left, but straight for old +Ingmar Ingmarson, and struck him a blow on the top of the head that +felled him to the ground as if he had been struck by lightning. It did +not attack any of the others, but rushed past them into the forest. + + * * * * * + +In the afternoon Ingmar Ingmarson's wife and son drove to the Dean's +house to announce his death. The son was spokesman, and the old +housewife sat and listened with a face as immovable as a stone figure. + +The Dean sat in his easy-chair near his writing-table. He had entered +the death in the register. He had done it rather slowly; he wanted time +to consider what he should say to the widow and the son, for this was, +indeed, an unusual case. The son had frankly told him how it had all +happened, but the Dean was anxious to know how they themselves looked at +it. They were peculiar people, the Ingmars. + +When the Dean had closed the book, the son said: + +'We wanted to tell you, sir, that we do not wish any account of father's +life to be read in church.' + +The Dean pushed his spectacles over his forehead and looked searchingly +at the old woman. She sat just as immovable as before. She only crumpled +the handkerchief a little which she held in her hand. + +'We wish to have him buried on a week day,' continued the son. + +'Indeed!' said the Dean. + +He could hardly believe his own ears. Old Ingmar Ingmarson to be buried +without anyone taking any notice of it! The congregation not to stand on +railings and mounds in order to see the display when he was being +carried to the grave! + +'There will not be any funeral feast. We have let the neighbours know +that they need not think of preparing anything for the funeral.' + +'Indeed, indeed!' said the Dean again. + +He could think of nothing else to say. He knew quite well what it meant +for such people to forego the funeral feast. He had seen both widows and +fatherless comforted by giving a splendid funeral feast. + +'There will be no funeral procession, only I and my brothers.' + +The Dean looked almost appealingly at the old woman. Could she really be +a party to all this? He asked himself if it could be her wishes to which +the son had given expression. She was sitting there and allowing herself +to be robbed of what must be dearer to her than gold and silver. + +'We will not have the bells rung, or any silver plates on the coffin. +Mother and I wish it to be done in this way, but we tell you all this, +sir, in order to hear, sir, if you think we are wronging father.' + +Now the old woman spoke: + +'We should like to hear if your Reverence thinks we are doing father a +wrong.' + +The Dean remained silent, and the old woman continued, more eagerly: + +'I must tell your Reverence that if my husband had sinned against the +King or the authorities, or if I had been obliged to cut him down from +the gallows, he should all the same have had an honourable funeral, as +his father before him, for the Ingmars are not afraid of anyone, and +they need not go out of their way for anybody. But at Christmas God has +made peace between man and beast, and the poor beast kept God's +commandment, whilst we broke it, and therefore we now suffer God's +punishment; and it is not becoming for us to show any ostentatious +display.' + +The Dean rose and went up to the old woman. + +'What you say is right,' he said, 'and you shall follow the dictates of +your own conscience.' And involuntarily he added, perhaps most to +himself: 'The Ingmars are a grand family.' + +The old woman straightened herself a little at these words. At that +moment the Dean saw in her the symbol of her whole race. He understood +what it was that had made these heavy, silent people, century after +century, the leaders of the whole parish. + +'It behooves the Ingmars to set the people a good example,' she said. +'It behooves us to show that we humble ourselves before God.' + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + VIII + + _A_ STORY _from_ HALSTAN[:A]S + + + + +_A_ STORY _from_ HALSTAN[:A]S + + +In olden times there stood by the roadside an old country-house called +Halstan[:a]s. It comprised a long row of red-painted houses, which were of +low structure, and right behind them lay the forest. Close to the +dwelling-house was a large wild cherry-tree, which showered its black +fruit over the red-tiled roof. A bell under a small belfry hung over the +gable of the stables. + +Just outside the kitchen-door was a dovecote, with a neat little +trelliswork outside the holes. From the attic a cage for squirrels was +hanging; it consisted of two small green houses and a large wheel, and +in front of a big hedge of lilacs stood a long row of beehives covered +with bark. + +There was a pond belonging to the farm, full of fat carp and slim +water-snakes; there was also a kennel at the entrance; there were white +gates at the end of the avenue, and at the garden walks, and in every +place where they could possibly have a gate. There were big lofts with +dark lumber-rooms, where old-fashioned uniforms and ladies' head-gear a +hundred years old were stored away; there were large chests full of silk +gowns and bridal finery; there were old pianos and violins, guitars and +bassoons. In bureaus and cabinets were manuscript songs and old yellow +letters; on the walls of the entrance-hall hung guns, pistols and +hunting-bags; on the floor were rugs, in which patches of old silken +gowns were woven together with pieces of threadbare cotton curtains. +There was a large porch, where the deadly nightshade summer after summer +grew up a thin trelliswork; there were large, yellow front-doors, which +were fastened with bolts and catches; the hall was strewn with sprigs of +juniper, and the windows had small panes and heavy wooden shutters. + +One summer old Colonel Beerencreutz came on a visit to this house. It is +supposed to have been the very year after he left Ekeby. At that time he +had taken rooms at a farm at Svartsj[:o], and it was only on rare occasions +that he went visiting. He still had his horse and gig, but he scarcely +ever used them. He said that he had grown old in earnest now, and that +home was the best place for old people. + +Beerencreutz was also loath to leave the work he had in hand. He was +weaving rugs for his two rooms--large, many-coloured rugs in a rich and +strangely-thought-out pattern. It took him an endless time, because he +had his own way of weaving, for he used no loom, but stretched his wool +from the one wall to the other right across the one room. He did this in +order to see the whole rug at one time; but to cross the woof and +afterwards bring the threads together to a firm web was no easy matter. +And then there was the pattern, which he himself thought out, and the +colours which should match. This took the Colonel more time than anyone +would have imagined; for whilst Beerencreutz was busy getting the +pattern right, and whilst he was working with warp and woof, he often +sat and thought of God. Our Lord, he thought, was likewise sitting at a +loom, still larger, and with an even more peculiar pattern to weave. And +he knew that there must be both light and dark shades in that weaving. +But Beerencreutz would at times sit and think so long about this, until +he fancied he saw before him his own life and the life of the people +whom he had known, and with whom he had lived, forming a small portion +of God's great weaving; and he seemed to see that piece so distinctly +that he could discern both outlines and colouring. And if one asked +Beerencreutz what the pattern in his work really meant, he would be +obliged to confess that it was the life of himself and his friends which +he wove into the rug as a faint imitation of what he thought he had seen +represented on God's loom. + +The Colonel, however, was accustomed to pay a little visit to some old +friends every year just after midsummer. He had always liked best to +travel through the country when the fields were still scented with +clover, and blue and yellow flowers grew along the roadside in two long +straight rows. + +This year the Colonel had hardly got to the great highroad before he met +his old friend Ensign von [:O]rneclou. And the Ensign, who was travelling +about all the year round, and who knew all the country houses in +V[:a]rmland, gave him some good advice. + +'Go to Halstan[:a]s and call upon Ensign Vestblad,' he said to the Colonel. +'I can only tell you, old man, I don't know a house in the whole country +where one fares better.' + +'What Vestblad are you speaking about?' asked the Colonel. 'I suppose +you don't mean the old Ensign whom the Major's wife showed the door?' + +'The very man,' said the Ensign. 'But Vestblad is not the same man he +was. He has married a fine lady--a real stunning woman, Colonel--who has +made a man of him. It was a wonderful piece of good luck for Vestblad +that such a splendid girl should take a fancy to him. She was not +exactly young any longer; but no more was he. You should go to +Halstan[:a]s, Colonel, and see what wonders love can work.' + +And the Colonel went to Halstan[:a]s to see if [:O]rneclou spoke the +truth. He had, as a matter of fact, now and then wondered what had +become of Vestblad; in his young days he had kicked so recklessly over +the traces that even the Major's wife at Ekeby could not put up with +him. She had not been able to keep him at Ekeby more than a couple of +years before she was obliged to turn him out. Vestblad had become such a +heavy drinker that a Cavalier could hardly associate with him. And now +[:O]rneclou declared that he owned a country house, and had made an +excellent match. + +The Colonel consequently went to Halstan[:a]s, and saw at the first glance +that it was a real old country-seat. He had only to look at the avenue +of birches with all the names cut on the fine old trees. Such birches he +had only seen at good old country-houses. The Colonel drove slowly up to +the house, and every moment his pleasure increased. He saw lime hedges +of the proper kind, so close that one could walk on the top of them, +and there were a couple of terraces with stone steps so old that they +were half buried in the ground. When the Colonel drove past the pond, he +saw indistinctly the dark carp in the yellowish water. The pigeons flew +up from the road flapping their wings; the squirrel stopped its wheel; +the watch-dog lay with its head on its paws, wagging its tail, and at +the same time faintly growling. Close to the porch the Colonel saw an +ant-hill, where the ants, unmolested, went to and fro--to and fro. He +looked at the flower-beds inside the grass border. There they grew, all +the old flowers: narcissus and pyrola, sempervivum and marigold; and on +the bank grew small white daisies, which had been there so long that +they now sowed themselves like weeds. Beerencreutz again said to himself +that this was indeed a real old country-house, where both plants and +animals and human beings throve as well as could be. + +When at last he drove up to the front-door he had as good a reception as +he could wish for, and as soon as he had brushed the dust off him he was +taken to the dining-room, and he was offered plenty of good +old-fashioned food--the same old cakes for dessert that his mother used +to give him when he came home from school; and any so good he had never +tasted elsewhere. + +Beerencreutz looked with surprise at Ensign Vestblad. He went about +quiet and content, with a long pipe in his mouth and a skull-cap on his +head. He wore an old morning-coat, which he had difficulty in getting +out of when it was time to dress for dinner. That was the only sign of +the Bohemian left, as far as Beerencreutz could see. He went about and +looked after his men, calculated their wages, saw how things were +getting on in the fields and meadows, gathered a rose for his wife when +he went through the garden, and he indulged no longer in either swearing +or spitting. But what astonished the Colonel most of all was the +discovery that old Ensign Vestblad kept his books. He took the Colonel +into his office and showed him large books with red backs. And those he +kept himself. He had lined them with red ink and black ink, written the +headings with large letters, and put down everything, even to a stamp. + +But Ensign Vestblad's wife, who was a born lady, called Beerencreutz +cousin, and they soon found out the relationship between them; and they +talked all their relatives over. At last Beerencreutz became so intimate +with Mrs. Vestblad that he consulted her about the rug he was weaving. + +It was a matter of course that the Colonel should stay the night. He was +taken to the best spare room to the right of the hall and close to his +host's bedroom, and his bed was a large four-poster, with heaps of +eiderdowns. + +The Colonel fell asleep as soon as he got into bed, but awoke later on +in the night. He immediately got out of bed and went and opened the +window-shutters. He had a view over the garden, and in the light summer +night he could see all the gnarled old apple-trees, with their +worm-eaten leaves, and with numerous props under the decayed branches. +He saw the large wild apple-tree, which in the autumn would give barrels +of uneatable fruit; he saw the strawberries, which had just begun to +ripen under their profusion of green leaves. + +The Colonel stood and looked at it as if he could not afford to waste +his time in sleeping. Outside his window at the peasant farm where he +lived all he could see was a stony hill and a couple of juniper-bushes; +and it was natural that a man like Beerencreutz should feel more at home +amongst well-trimmed hedges and roses in bloom. + +When in the quiet stillness of the night one looks out upon a garden, +one often has a feeling that it is not real and natural. It can be so +still that one can almost fancy one's self in the theatre; one imagines +that the trees are painted and the roses made of paper. And it was +something like this the Colonel felt as he stood there. 'It cannot be +possible,' he thought, 'that all this is real. It can only be a dream.' +But then a few rose-leaves fell softly to the ground from the big +rose-tree just outside his window, and then he realized that everything +was genuine. Everything was real and genuine; both day and night the +same peace and contentment everywhere. + +When he went and laid down again he left the window-shutters open. He +lay in the high bed and looked time after time at the rose-tree; it is +impossible to describe his pleasure in looking at it. He thought what a +strange thing it was that such a man as Vestblad should have this flower +of Paradise outside his window. + +The more the Colonel thought of Vestblad the more surprised he became +that such a foal should end his days in such a stable. He was not good +for much at the time he was turned away from Ekeby. Who would have +thought he would have become a staid and well-to-do man? + +The Colonel lay and laughed to himself, and wondered whether Vestblad +still remembered how he used to amuse himself in the olden days when he +was living at Ekeby. On dark and stormy nights he used to rub himself +over with phosphorus, mount a black horse, and ride over the hills to +the ironworks, where the smiths and the workmen lived; and if anyone +happened to look out of his window and saw a horseman shining with a +bluish-white light tearing past, he hastened to bar and bolt everywhere, +saying it was best to say one's prayers twice that night, for the devil +was abroad. + +Oh yes, to frighten simple folks by such tricks was a favourite +amusement in olden days; but Vestblad had carried his jokes further than +anyone else the Colonel knew of. + +An old woman on the parish had died at Viksta, which belonged to Ekeby. +Vestblad happened to hear about this. He also heard that the corpse had +been taken from the house and placed in a barn. At night Vestblad put on +his fiery array, mounted his black horse, and rode to the farmstead; and +people there who were about had seen a fiery horseman ride up to the +barn, where the corpse lay, ride three times round it and disappear +through the door. They had also seen the horseman come out again, ride +three times round the house and then disappear. But in the morning, when +they went into the barn to see the corpse, it was gone, and they +thought the devil had been there and carried her off. This supposition +had been enough for them. But a couple of weeks later they found the +body, which had been thrown on to a hay-loft in the barn, and then there +was a great outcry. They found out who the fiery horseman was, and the +peasants were on the watch to give Vestblad a good hiding. But the +Major's wife would not have him at her table or in her house any longer; +she packed his knapsack and asked him to betake himself elsewhere. And +Vestblad went out into the world and made his fortune. + +A strange feeling of uneasiness came over the Colonel as he lay in bed. +He felt as if something were going to happen. He had hardly realized +before what an ugly story it was. He had no doubt even laughed at it at +the time. They had not been in the habit of taking much notice of what +happened to a poor old pauper in those days; but, great God! how furious +one would have been if anybody had done that to one's own mother! + +A suffocating feeling came over the Colonel; he breathed heavily. The +thought of what Vestblad had done appeared so vile and hateful to him, +it weighed him down like a nightmare. He was half afraid of seeing the +dead woman, of seeing her appear from behind the bed. He felt as if she +must be quite near. And from the four corners of the room the Colonel +heard terrible words: 'God will not forgive it! God has never forgotten +it!' + +The Colonel closed his eyes, but then he suddenly saw before him God's +great loom, where the web was woven with the fates of men; and he +thought he saw Ensign Vestblad's square, and it was dark on three sides; +and he, who understood something about weaving and patterns, knew that +the fourth side would also have to be covered with the dark shade. It +could not be done in any other way, otherwise there would be a mistake +in the weaving. + +A cold sweat broke out on his forehead; it seemed to him that he looked +upon what was the hardest and the most immovable in all the world. He +saw how the fate which a man has worked out in his past life will pursue +him to the end. And to think there were actually people who thought they +could escape it! + +Escape it! escape! All was noted and written down; the one colour and +the one figure necessitated the other, and everything came about as it +was bound to come about. + +Suddenly Colonel Beerencreutz sat up in bed; he would look at the +flowers and the roses, and think that perhaps our Lord could forget +after all. But at the moment Beerencreutz sat up in bed the bedroom door +opened, and one of the farm-labourers--a stranger to him--put his head +in and nodded to the Colonel. + +It was now so light that the Colonel saw the man quite distinctly. It +was the most hideous face he had ever seen. He had small gray eyes like +a pig, a flat nose, and a thin, bristly beard. One could not say that +the man looked like an animal, for animals have nearly always good +faces, but still, he had something of the animal about him. His lower +jaw projected, his neck was thick, and his forehead was quite hidden by +his rough, unkempt hair. + +He nodded three times to the Colonel, and every time his mouth opened +with a broad grin; and he put out his hand, red with blood, and showed +it triumphantly. Up to this moment the Colonel had sat up in bed as if +paralyzed, but now he jumped up and was at the door in two steps. But +when he reached the door, the fellow was gone and the door closed. + +The Colonel was just on the point of raising the alarm, when it struck +him that the door must be fastened on the inside, on his side, as he had +himself locked it the night before; and on examining it, he found that +it had not been unlocked. + +The Colonel felt almost ashamed to think that in his old age he had +begun to see ghosts. He went straight back to bed again. + +When the morning came, and he had breakfasted, the Colonel felt still +more ashamed. He had excited himself to such an extent that he had +trembled all over and perspired from fear. He said not a word about it. +But later on in the day he and Vestblad went over the estate. As they +passed a labourer who was cutting sods on a bank Beerencreutz recognised +him again. It was the man he had seen in the night. He recognised +feature for feature. + +'I would not keep that man a day longer in my service, my friend,' said +Beerencreutz, when they had walked a short distance. And he told +Vestblad what he had seen in the night. 'I tell you this simply to warn +you, in order that you may dismiss the man.' + +But Vestblad would not; he was just the man he would not dismiss. And +when Beerencreutz pressed him more and more, he at last confessed that +he would not do anything to the man, because he was the son of an old +pauper woman who had died at Viksta close to Ekeby. + +'You no doubt remember the story?' he added. + +'If that's the case, I would rather go to the end of the world than live +another day with that man about the place,' said Beerencreutz. An hour +after he left, and was almost angry that his warning was not heeded. +'Some misfortune will happen before I come here again,' said the Colonel +to Vestblad, as he took leave. + +Next year, at the same time, the Colonel was preparing for another visit +to Halstan[:a]s. But before he got so far, he heard some sad news about his +friends. As the clock struck one, a year after the very night he had +slept there, Ensign Vestblad and his wife had been murdered in their +bedroom by one of their labourers--a man with a neck like a bull, a flat +nose, and eyes like a pig. + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + IX + + _The_ INSCRIPTION _on the_ GRAVE + + + + +_The_ INSCRIPTION _on the_ GRAVE + + +Nowadays no one ever takes any notice of the little cross standing in +the corner of Svartsj[:o] Churchyard. People on their way to and from +church go past it without giving it a glance. This is not so very +wonderful, because it is so low and small that clover and bluebells grow +right up to the arms of the cross, and timothy-grass to the very top of +it. Neither does anyone think of reading the inscription which stands on +the cross. The white letters are almost entirely washed out by the rain, +and it never occurs to anyone to try and decipher what is still left, +and try to make it out. But so it has not always been. The little cross +in its time has been the cause of much surprise and curiosity. There was +a time when not a person put his foot inside Svartsj[:o] Churchyard without +going up to look at it. And when one of the old people from those days +now happens to see it, a whole story comes back to him of people and +events that have been long forgotten. He sees before him the whole of +Svartsj[:o] parish in the lethargic sleep of winter, covered by even white +snow, quite a yard deep, so that it is impossible to discern road or +pathway, or to know where one is going. It is almost as necessary to +have a compass here as at sea. There is no difference between sea and +shore. The roughest ground is as even as the field which in the autumn +yielded such a harvest of oats. The charcoal-burner living near the +great bogs might imagine himself possessed of as much cultivated land as +the richest peasant. + +The roads have left their secure course between the gray fences, and are +running at random across the meadows and along the river. Even on one's +own farm one may lose one's way, and suddenly discover that on one's way +to the well one has walked over the spirea-hedge and round the little +rose-bed. + +But nowhere is it so impossible to find one's way as in the churchyard. +In the first place, the stone wall which separates it from the pastor's +field is entirely buried under the snow, so with that it is all one; and +secondly, the churchyard itself is only a simple large, white plain, +where not even the smallest unevenness in the snow-cover betrays the +many small mounds and tufts of the garden of the dead. + +On most of the graves are iron crosses, from which hang small, thin +hearts of tin, which the summer wind sets in motion. These little hearts +are now all hidden under the snow, and cannot tinkle their sad songs of +sorrow and longing. + +People who work in the towns have brought back with them to their dead +wreaths with flowers of beads and leaves of painted tin; and these +wreaths are so highly treasured that they are kept in small glass cases +on the graves. But now all this is hidden and buried under the snow, and +the grave that possesses such an ornament is in no way more remarkable +than any of the other graves. + +One or two lilac bushes raise their heads above the snow-cover, but +their little stiff branches look so alike, that it is impossible to tell +one from the other, and they are of no use whatever to anyone trying to +find his way in the churchyard. Old women who are in the habit of going +on Sundays to visit their graves can only get a little way down the main +walk on account of the snow. There they stand, trying to make out where +their own grave lies--is it near that bush, or that?--and they begin to +long for the snow to melt. It is as if the one for whom they are +sorrowing has gone so far away from them, now that they cannot see the +spot where he lies. + +There are also a few large gravestones and crosses that are higher than +the snow, but they are not many; and as these are also covered with +snow, they cannot be distinguished either. + +There is only one pathway kept clear in the churchyard. It is the one +leading from the entrance to the small mortuary. When anyone is to be +buried the coffin is carried into the mortuary, and there the pastor +reads the service and casts the earth upon the coffin. It is impossible +to place the coffin in the ground as long as such a winter lasts. It +must remain standing in the mortuary until God sees fit to thaw the +earth, and the ground can be digged and made ready. + + * * * * * + +Just when the winter was at its hardest, and the churchyard quite +inaccessible, a child died at Sander's, the ironmaster at Lerum +ironworks. + +The ironworks at Lerum were large, and Sander, the ironmaster, was a +great man in that part of the country. He had recently had a family +grave made in the churchyard--a splendid grave, the position of which +one could not easily forget, although the snow had laid its thick carpet +over it. It was surrounded by heavy, hewn stones, with a massive chain +between them, and in the middle of the grave stood a huge granite block, +with their name inscribed upon it. There was only the one word 'Sander,' +engraved in large letters, but it could be seen over the whole +churchyard. But now that the child was dead, and was to be buried, the +ironmaster said to his wife: + +'I will not allow this child to lie in my grave.' + +One can picture them both at that moment. It was in their dining-room at +Lerum. The ironmaster was sitting at the breakfast-table alone, as was +his wont. His wife, Ebba Sander, was sitting in a rocking-chair at the +window, from where she had a wide view of the lake, with its small +islands covered with birches. + +She had been weeping, but when her husband said this, her eyes became +immediately dry. Her little figure seemed to shrink from fear, and she +began to tremble. + +'What do you say? What are you saying?' she asked, and her voice sounded +as if she were shivering from cold. + +'I object to it,' he said. 'My father and my mother lie there, and the +name "Sander" stands on the stone. I will not allow that child to lie +there.' + +'Oh,' she said, still trembling, 'is that what you have been thinking +about? I always did think that some day you would have your revenge.' + +He threw down his serviette, rose from the table, and stood before her, +broad and big. It was not his intention to assert his will with many +words, but she could see, as he stood there, that nothing could make him +change his mind. Stern, immovable, obstinate he was from top to toe. + +'I will not revenge myself,' he said, 'only I will not have it.' + +'You speak as if it were only a question of removing him from one bed to +the other,' she said. 'He is dead. It does not matter to him where he +lies, I suppose; but for me it is ruin, you know.' + +'I have also thought of that,' he said, 'but I cannot.' + +When two people have been married, and have lived together for some +years, they do not require many words to understand one another. She +knew it would be quite useless to try and move him. + +'Why did you forgive me, then?' she said, wringing her hands. 'Why did +you let me stay with you as your wife and promise to forgive me?' + +He knew that he would not do her any harm. It was not his fault that he +had now reached the limit of his forbearance. + +'Say to people what you like,' he said; 'I shall not say anything. You +can say, if you like, that there is water in the vault, or that there is +only room for father and mother and you and me.' + +'And you imagine that they will believe that!' + +'Well, you must manage that as best you can.' + +He was not angry; she knew that he was not. It was only as he said: on +that point he could not give way. + +She went further into the room, put her hands at the back of her head, +and sat gazing out of the window without saying anything. The terrible +thing is that so much happens to one in life over which one has no +control, and, above all, that something may spring up within one's self +over which one is entirely powerless. Some years ago, when she was +already a staid married woman, love came to her; and what a love--so +violent that it was quite impossible for her to resist. + +Was not the feeling which now mastered her husband--was not that, after +all, a desire to be revenged? + +He had never been angry with her. He forgave her at once when she came +and confessed her sin. + +'You have been out of your senses,' he said, and allowed her to remain +with him at Lerum as if nothing had happened. + +But although it is easy enough to say one forgives, it may be hard to do +so, especially for one whose mind is slow and heavy, who ponders over +but never forgets or gives vent to his feelings. Whatever he may say, +and however much he may have made up his mind, something is always left +within his heart which gnaws and longs to be satisfied with someone +else's suffering. She had always had a strange feeling that it would +have been better for her if he had been so enraged that he had struck +her. Then, perhaps, things could have come right between them. All these +years he had been morose and irritable, and she had become frightened. +She was like a horse between the traces. She knew that behind her was +one who held a whip over her, even if he did not use it; and now he had +used it. He had not been able to refrain any longer. And now it was all +over with her. + +Those who were about her said they had never seen such sorrow as hers. +She seemed to be petrified. The whole time before the funeral it was as +if there were no real life in her. One could not tell if she heard what +was said to her, if she had any idea who was speaking to her. She did +not eat; it was as if she felt no hunger. She went out in the bitterest +cold; she did not feel it. But it was not grief that petrified her--it +was fear. + +It never struck her for a moment to stay at home on the day of the +funeral. She must go to the churchyard, she must walk in the funeral +procession--must go there, feeling that all who were present expected +that the body would be laid in the family vault of the Sanders. She +thought she would sink into the ground at all the surprise and scorn +which would rise up against her when the grave-digger, who headed the +procession, led the way to an out-of-the-way grave. An outburst of +astonishment would be heard from everybody, although it was a funeral +procession: 'Why is the child not going to be buried in the Sanders' +family vault?' Thoughts would go back to the vague rumours which were +once circulated about her. 'There must have been something in them, +after all,' people will whisper to each other. And before the mourners +left the churchyard she would be condemned and lost. The only thing for +her to do was to be present herself. She would go there with a quiet +face, as if everything was as it ought to be. Then, perhaps, they might +believe what she said to explain the matter. . . . + +Her husband went with her to the church; he had looked after everything, +invited people, ordered the coffin, and arranged who should be the +bearers. He was kind and good now that he had got his own way. + +It was on a Sunday. The service was over, and the mourners had assembled +outside the porch, where the coffin was standing. The bearers had placed +the white bands over their shoulders; all people of any position had +joined in the procession, as did also many of the congregation. She had +a feeling as if they had all gathered together in order to accompany a +criminal to the scaffold. + +How they would all look at her when they came back from the funeral! She +was there to prepare them for what was to happen, but she had not been +able to utter a single word. She felt quite unable to speak quietly and +sensibly. There was only one thing she wanted: to scream and moan so +violently and loudly that it could be heard all over the churchyard; and +she had to bite her lips so as not to cry out. + +The bells commenced to ring in the tower, and the procession began to +move. Now all these people would find it out without the slightest +preparation. Oh, why had she not spoken in time? She had to restrain +herself to the utmost from shouting out and telling them that they must +not go to the grave with the dead child. Those who are dead are dead and +gone. Why should her whole life be spoiled for the sake of this dead +child? They could put him in the earth, where they liked, only not in +the churchyard. She had a confused idea that she would frighten them +away from the churchyard; it was risky to go there; it was +plague-smitten; there were marks of a wolf in the snow; she would +frighten them as one frightens children. + +She did not know where they had digged the child's grave. She would know +soon enough, she thought; and when the procession entered the +churchyard, she glanced around the snow-covered ground to see where +there was a new grave; but she saw neither path nor grave--nothing but +the white snow. And the procession advanced towards the small mortuary. +As many as possibly could pressed into the building and saw the earth +cast on to the coffin. There was no question whatever about this or that +grave. No one found out that the little one which was now laid to rest +was never to be taken to the family vault. + +Had she but thought of that, had she not forgotten everything else in +her fear and terror, then she need not have been afraid, not for a +single moment. + +'In the spring,' she thought, 'when the coffin has to be placed in the +ground, there will probably be no one there except the grave-digger; +everybody will think that the child is lying in the Sanders' vault.' And +she felt that she was saved. + +She sank down sobbing violently. People looked at her with sympathy. +'How terribly she felt it!' they said. But she herself knew that she +cried like one who has escaped from a mortal danger. + +A day or two after the funeral she was sitting in the twilight in her +accustomed place in the dining-room, and as it grew darker she caught +herself waiting and longing. She sat and listened for the child; that +was the time when he always used to come in and play with her. Why did +he not come that day? Then she started. 'Oh, he is dead, he is dead!' + +The next day she sat again in the twilight, and longed for him, and day +by day this longing grew. It grew as the light does in the springtime, +until at last it filled all the hours both of day and night. + +It almost goes without saying that a child like hers was more loved +after death than whilst it was living. While it was living its mother +had thought of nothing but regaining the trust and the love of her +husband. And for him the child could never be a source of happiness. It +was necessary to keep it away from him as much as possible; and the +child had often felt he was in the way. + +She, who had failed in and neglected her duty, would show her husband +that she was worth something after all. She was always about in the +kitchen and in the weaving-room. Where could there be any room, then, +for the little boy? + +But now, afterwards, she remembered how his eyes could beg and beseech. +In the evening he liked so much to have her sitting at his bedside. He +said he was afraid to lie in the dark; but now it struck her that that +had probably only been an excuse to get her to stay with him. She +remembered how he lay and tried not to fall asleep. Now she knew that he +kept himself awake in order that he might lie a little longer and feel +his hand in hers. He had been a shrewd little fellow, young as he was. +He had exerted all his little brain to find out how he could get a +little share of her love. It is incomprehensible that children can love +so deeply. She never understood it whilst he was alive. + +It was really first now that she had begun to love the child. It was +first now that she was really impressed by his beauty. She would sit and +dream of his big, strange eyes. He had never been robust and ruddy like +most children, but delicate and slender. But how sweet he had been! He +seemed to her now as something wonderfully beautiful--more and more +beautiful for every day that went. Children were indeed the best of all +in this world. To think that there were little beings stretching out +their hands to everybody, and thinking good of all; that never ask if a +face be plain or pretty, but are equally willing to kiss either, loving +equally old and young, rich and poor. And yet they were real little +people. + +For every day that went she was drawn nearer and nearer to the child. +She wished that the child had been still alive; but, on the other hand, +she was not sure that in that case she would have been drawn so near to +it. At times she was quite in despair at the thought that she had not +done more for the child whilst he was alive. That was probably why he +had been taken from her, she thought. + +But it was not often that she sorrowed like this. Earlier in life she +had always been afraid lest some great sorrow should overtake her, but +now it seemed to her that sorrow was not what she had then thought it to +be. Sorrow was only to live over and over again through something which +was no more. Sorrow in her case was to become familiar with her child's +whole being, and to seek to understand him. And that sorrow had made her +life so rich. + +What she was most afraid of now was that time would take him from her +and wipe out the memory of him. She had no picture of him; perhaps his +features little by little would fade for her. She sat every day and +tried to think how he looked. 'Do I see him exactly as he was?' she +said. + +Week by week, as the winter wore away, she began to long for the time +when he would be taken from the mortuary and buried in the ground, so +that she could go to his grave and speak with him. He should lie towards +the west, that was the most beautiful, and she would deck the grave with +roses. There should also be a hedge round the grave, and a seat where +she could sit often and often. People would perhaps wonder at it; but +they were not to know that her child did not lie in the family grave; +and they were sure to think it strange that she placed flowers on an +unknown grave and sat there for hours. What could she say to explain it? + +Sometimes she thought that she could, perhaps, do it in this way: First +she would go to the big grave and place a large bouquet of flowers on +it, and remain sitting there for some time, and afterwards she would +steal away to the little grave; and he would be sure to be content with +the little flower she would secretly give him. But even if he were +satisfied with the one little flower, could she be? Could she really +come quite near to him in this way? Would he not notice that she was +ashamed of him? Would he not understand what a disgrace his birth had +been to her? No, she would have to protect him from that. He must only +think that the joy of having possessed him weighed against all the rest. + +At last the winter was giving way. One could see the spring was coming. +The snow-cover began to melt, and the earth to peep out. It would still +be a week or two before the ground was thawed, but it would not be long +now before the dead could be taken away from the mortuary. And she +longed--she longed so exceedingly for it. + +Could she still picture to herself how he looked? She tried every day; +but it was easier when it was winter. Now, when the spring was coming, +it seemed as if he faded away from her. She was filled with despair. If +she were only soon able to sit by his grave and be near to him again, +then she would be able to see him again, to love him. Would he never be +laid in his little grave? She must be able to see him again, see him +through her whole life; she had no one else to love. + +At last all her fears and scruples vanished before this great longing. +She loved, she loved; she could not live without the dead! She knew now +that she could not consider anybody or anything but him--him alone. And +when the spring came in earnest, when mounds and graves once again +appeared all over the churchyard, when the little hearts of the iron +crosses again began to tinkle in the wind, and the beaded wreaths to +sparkle in their glass cases, and when the earth at last was ready to +receive the little coffin, she had ready a black cross to place on his +grave. On the cross from arm to arm was written in plain white letters, + +'HERE RESTS MY CHILD,' + +and underneath, on the stem of the cross, stood her name. + +She did not mind that the whole world would know how she had sinned. +Other things were of no consequence to her; all she thought about was +that she would now be able to pray at the grave of her child. + + + + + _From a Swedish_ HOMESTEAD + + X + + _The_ BROTHERS + + + + +_The_ BROTHERS + + +It is very possible that I am mistaken, but it seems to me that an +astonishing number of people die this year. I have a feeling that I +cannot go down the street without meeting a hearse. One cannot help +thinking about all those who are carried to the churchyard. I always +feel as if it were so sad for the dead who have to be buried in towns. I +can hear how they moan in their coffins. Some complain that they have +not had plumes on the hearse; some count up the wreaths, and are not +satisfied; and then there are some who have only been followed by two or +three carriages, and who are hurt by it. + +The dead ought never to know and experience such things; but people in +towns do not at all understand how they ought to honour those who have +entered into eternal rest. + +When I really think over it I do not know any place where they +understand it better than at home in Svartsj[:o]. If you die in the parish +of Svartsj[:o] you know you will have a coffin like that of everyone +else--an honest black coffin which is like the coffins in which the +country judge and the local magistrate were buried a year or two ago. +For the same joiner makes all the coffins, and he has only one pattern; +the one is made neither better nor worse than the other. And you know +also, for you have seen it so many times, that you will be carried to +the church on a waggon which has been painted black for the occasion. +You need not trouble yourself at all about any plumes. And you know that +the whole village will follow you to the church, and that they will +drive as slowly and as solemnly for you as for a landed proprietor. + +But you will have no occasion to feel annoyed because you have not +enough wreaths, for they do not place a single flower on the coffin; it +shall stand out black and shining, and nothing must cover it; and it is +not necessary for you to think whether you will have a sufficiently +large number of people to follow you, for those who live in your town +will be sure to follow you, every one. Nor will you be obliged to lie +and listen if there is lamenting and weeping around your coffin. They +never weep over the dead when they stand on the church hill outside +Svartsj[:o] Church. No, they weep as little over a strong young fellow who +falls a prey to death just as he is beginning to provide for his old +people as they will for you. You will be placed on a couple of black +trestles outside the door of the parish room, and a whole crowd of +people will gradually gather round you, and all the women will have +handkerchiefs in their hands. But no one will cry; all the handkerchiefs +will be kept tightly rolled up; not one will be applied to the eyes. You +need not speculate as to whether people will shed as many tears over you +as they would over others. They would cry if it were the proper thing, +but it is not the proper thing. + +You can understand that if there were much sorrowing over one grave, it +would not look well for those over whom no one sorrowed. They know what +they were about at Svartsj[:o]. They do as it has been the custom to do +there for many hundred years. But whilst you stand there, on the church +hill, you are a great and important personage, although you receive +neither flowers nor tears. No one comes to church without asking who you +are, and then they go quietly up to you and stand and gaze at you; and +it never occurs to anyone to wound the dead by pitying him. No one says +anything but that it is well for him that it is all over. + +It is not at all as it is in a town, where you can be buried any day. At +Svartsj[:o] you must be buried on a Sunday, so that you can have the whole +parish around you. There you will have standing near your coffin both +the girl with whom you danced at the last midsummer night's festival and +the man with whom you exchanged horses at the last fair. You will have +the schoolmaster who took so much trouble with you when you were a +little lad, and who had forgotten you, although you remembered him so +well; and you will have the old Member of Parliament who never before +thought it worth his while to bow to you. This is not as in a town, +where people hardly turn round when you are carried past. When they +bring the long bands and place them under the coffin, there is not one +who does not watch the proceedings. + +You cannot imagine what a churchwarden we have at Svartsj[:o]. He is an old +soldier, and he looks like a Field-Marshal. He has short white hair and +twisted moustaches, and a pointed imperial; he is slim and tall and +straight, with a light and firm step. On Sundays he wears a +well-brushed frock-coat of fine cloth. He really looks a very fine old +gentleman, and it is he who walks at the head of the procession. Then +comes the verger. Not that the verger is to be compared with the +churchwarden. It is more than probable that his Sunday hat is too large +and old-fashioned; as likely as not he is awkward--but when is a verger +not awkward? + +Then you come next in your coffin, with the six bearers, and then follow +the clergyman and the clerk and the Town Council and the whole parish. +All the congregation will follow you to the churchyard, you may be sure +of that. But I will tell you something: All those who follow you look so +small and poor. They are not fine town's-people, you know--only plain, +simple Svartsj[:o] folk. There is only one who is great and important, and +that is you in your coffin--you who are dead. + +The others the next day will have to resume their heavy and toilsome +work. They will have to live in poor old cottages and wear old, patched +clothes; the others will always be plagued and worried, and dragged down +and humbled by poverty. + +Those who follow you to your grave become far more sad by looking at the +living than by thinking of you who are dead. You need not look any more +at the velvet collar of your coat to see if it is not getting worn at +the edges; you need not make a special fold of your silk handkerchief to +hide that it is beginning to fray; you will never more be compelled to +ask the village shopkeeper to let you have goods on credit; you will +not find out that your strength is failing; you will not have to wait +for the day when you must go on the parish. + +While they are following you to the grave everyone will be thinking that +it is best to be dead--better to soar heavenwards, carried on the white +clouds of the morning--than to be always experiencing life's manifold +troubles. When they come to the wall of the churchyard, where the grave +has been made, the bands are exchanged for strong ropes, and people get +on to the loose earth and lower you down. And when this has been done +the clerk advances to the grave and begins to sing: 'I walk towards +death.' + +He sings the hymn quite alone; neither the clergyman nor any of the +congregation help him. But the clerk must sing; however keen the north +wind and however glaring the sun which shines straight in his face, sing +he does. + +The clerk, however, is getting old now, and he has not much voice left; +he is quite aware that it does not sound as well now as formerly when he +sang people into their graves; but he does it all the same--it is part +of his duty. For the day, you understand, when his voice quite fails +him, so that he cannot sing any more, he must resign his office, and +this means downright poverty for him. Therefore the whole gathering +stands in apprehension while the old clerk sings, wondering whether his +voice will last through the whole verse. But no one joins him, not a +single person, for that would not do; it is not the custom. People never +sing at a grave at Svartsj[:o]. People do not sing in the church either, +except the first hymn on Christmas Day morning. + +Still, if one listened very attentively, one could hear that the clerk +does not sing alone. There really is another voice, but it sounds so +exactly the same that the two voices blend as if they were only one. The +other who sings is a little old man in a long, coarse gray coat. He is +still older than the clerk, but he gives out all the voice he has to +help him. And the voice, as I have told you, is exactly the same kind as +the clerk's; they are so alike one cannot help wondering at it. + +But when one looks closer, the little gray old man is also exactly like +the clerk; he has the same nose and chin and mouth, only somewhat older, +and, as it were, more hardly dealt with in life. And then one +understands that the little gray man is the clerk's brother; and then +one knows why he helps him. For, you see, things have never gone well +with him in this world, and he has always had bad luck; and once he was +made a bankrupt, and brought the clerk into his misfortunes. He knows +that it is his fault that his brother has always had to struggle. And +the clerk, you know, has tried to help him on to his legs again, but +with no avail, for he has not been one of those one can help. He has +always been unfortunate; and then, he has had no strength of purpose. + +But the clerk has been the shining light in the family; and for the +other it has been a case of receiving and receiving, and he has never +been able to make any return at all. Great God! even to talk of making +any return--he who is so poor! You should only see the little hut in +the forest where he lives. He knows that he has always been dull and +sad, only a burden--only a burden for his brother and for others. But +now of late he has become a great man; now he is able to give some +return. And that he does. Now he helps his brother, the clerk, who has +been the sunshine and life and joy for him all his days. Now he helps +him to sing, so that he may keep his office. + +He does not go to church, for he thinks that everyone looks at him +because he has no black Sunday clothes; but every Sunday he goes up to +the church to see whether there is a coffin on the black trestles +outside the parish room; and if there is one he goes to the grave, in +spite of his old gray coat, and helps his brother with his pitiful old +voice. + +The little old man knows very well how badly he sings; he places himself +behind the others, and does not push forward to the grave. But sing he +does; it would not matter so much if the clerk's voice should fail on +one or other note, his brother is there and helps him. + +At the churchyard no one laughs at the singing; but when people go home +and have thrown off their devoutness, then they speak about the service, +and then they laugh at the clerk's singing--laugh both at his and his +brother's. The clerk does not mind it, it is the same to him; but his +brother thinks about it and suffers from it; he dreads the Sunday the +whole week, but still he comes punctually to the churchyard and does his +duty. But you in your coffin, you do not think so badly of the singing. +You think that it is good music. Is it not true that one would like to +be buried in Svartsj[:o], if only for the sake of that singing? + +It says in the hymn that life is but a walk towards death, and when the +two old men sing this--the two who have suffered for each other during +their whole life--then one understands better than ever before how +wearisome it is to live, and one is so entirely satisfied with being +dead. + +And then the singing stops, and the clergyman throws earth on the coffin +and says a prayer over you. Then the two old voices sing: 'I walk +towards heaven.' And they do not sing this verse any better than the +former; their voices grow more feeble and querulous the longer they +sing. But for you a great and wide expanse opens, and you soar upwards +with tremulous joy, and everything earthly fades and disappears. + +But still the last which you hear of things earthly tells of +faithfulness and love. And in the midst of your trembling flight the +poor song will awake memories of all the faithfulness and love you have +met with here below, and this will bear you upwards. This will fill you +with radiance and make you beautiful as an angel. + + + THE END. + + + + + [Illustration] + + THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS + GARDEN CITY, N. Y. + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + +Hyphenation is inconsistent, for example sheepskin, sheep-skin and +sheep's-skin all occur. These have been left as printed. + +On page 184 "... and the nip reddened on the naked branch of the +hawthorn" has been left as printed, however the original Swedish talks +of nyponet and t[:o]rnbuskens (rosehip and thornbush), rather than +nip and hawthorn. + +Changes that have been made are: + + Page 4 from: then I feel that I must speak + to: then I feel that I must speak. + + Page 55 from: the newly-buried birl + to: the newly-buried girl + + Page 94 from: the everlasting unrest that tormened him + to: the everlasting unrest that tormented him + + Page 124 from: why had be been unhappy? + to: why had he been unhappy? + + Page 229 from: found friends in the solitude above + to: found friends in the solitude above. + + Page 264 from: Guilietta Lombardi + to: Giulietta Lombardi + + Page 328 from: the snow had laid its thinck carpet + to: the snow had laid its thick carpet + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's From a Swedish Homestead, by Selma Lagerlöf + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM A SWEDISH HOMESTEAD *** + +***** This file should be named 44630.txt or 44630.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/6/3/44630/ + +Produced by Fay Dunn, sp1nd and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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